


The Red Past

by Toruviel



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Bigotry & Prejudice, Character Death, Discrimination, Gen, Harm to Children, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Luke centered, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Politics, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Tatooine Slave Culture, Terrorism, That's Not How The Force Works, Time Travel, Violence, War, alternative universe, the Force interference
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-04
Updated: 2018-06-17
Packaged: 2018-11-23 12:28:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 83,869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11402409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Toruviel/pseuds/Toruviel
Summary: Hanging below the Cloud City, in shock and pain, abandoned by friends dead and alive alike, Luke Skywalker knew better than to ask for help for the third time. He begged for understanding instead.The Force heard.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Title from a poem "Welsh History" By R S Thomas:
> 
> We were a people bred on legends,  
> Warming our hands at the red past.
> 
> A lot of thanks to Fialleril for the Tatooine Cycle, it has been a great inspiration.

He was cold, everywhere except his right hand, which was hot and throbbing. The winds below the strange city in the clouds were grasping his hair and clothes, calling him to join their play, to let go again. To fall. ( _No. I am-)_

He opened his eyes and looked down, into the swirling mist below. He was alone. Ben wasn’t coming, had warned him about that, but Leia… She had heard him, of that he was sure, but instead of help he received only a scrambled mix of feelings, of escaping and chasing at the same time, of pursuit, of desperate, burning love… Not for him, apparently. A small part of him hoped that meant she was busy rescuing Han, but the pain and exhaustion and wrenching, soul deep sorrow robbed him of his usual generosity. If she was busy saving Han, she had to leave him behind (and isn’t that the story of his life?).

No help was coming.

He shivered harder, feeling the oppressive Darkness reaching for him, embracing him and leaving its seeds behind his eyes, in his clenched, bloodied teeth. Darkness and coldness and a scorching, hungry possessiveness, that was his opponent, his (so longed for!) father. The enemy his teachers were training him to kill.

How was it possible?

It was a small though, small and quiet like a weeping of an abandoned child, and just as old. It had always been with him, ever since he could understand that every child had a family when he had had only relatives, ever since he had been called an orphan and laughed at. That small, lost though: why didn’t he have parents? How could they just leave him there (amid the harsh, scalding sands, in indifferent space where planets should be, lost among the dying swamps-) alone?

How did that happen?

It rang through him again, old and powerful. How did this happen? How did a Jedi Knight become a Sith Lord? How did a _dear friend and a cunning warrior_ become this burning darkness? (Oh, Ben, such lies, so many lies!) How did a freed slave become the Emperor’s right hand, his enforcer over the enslaved galaxy? He had heard so many tales about his father, from his Aunt (rarely from his Uncle), from Ben, from older Rebels still remembering the dashing hero of the Clone Wars, all of them describing someone a son could be proud of, and not all of the stories could be lies, some of them must, simply must have been true… So how did this happen?

And in this hour, bleeding and alone but for the Force, lost and desolate and denied help, Luke Skywalker knew better than to beg for aid. The universe didn’t work like that. He simply closed his eyes and asked for understanding, if salvation was beyond his reach. Closed his eyes, trusted the Force and-

Let go.

 

***

 

The first thing he was aware of was pain, in his hand, in his head, in his muscles… and somewhere deeper, beyond his bones. The Force sang with his agony, amplifying it and sending it back, cold and merciless, and he was too weak, too stunned to rein it in. He screamed.

Then hands were on him, humanoid hands and cold droids’ limbs, holding him down, restraining, loud voices talking, incomprehensive noise. Someone forcibly opened his right eye, a blinding light piercing him to the very core, sending fresh waves of agony into his brain, too much, it was too much- He tried to move away, too struggle free, but they were holding him too tightly, metal restrains joining hard hands, immobilising him, he couldn’t move, couldn’t escape and the light and the noise were shredding his skin, he couldn’t- couldn’t- there was nothing left-

Nothing but the Force.

He roared his defiance, his pain, taking it and sending it out like a blast, like a fierce wind, a breath of a krayt dragon, unstoppable, and finally, finally the hands were gone, the light was gone, the noise dying down to groans and screech of compressing durasteel. Still he couldn’t move, the metal restrains at his wrists, his ankles, around his _chest,_ he couldn’t breathe, a cold collar around his _neck,_ constricting- He screamed again, seeing the shackles in his mind and tearing them away from himself, destroying, sending them into the walls, into the people that had just begin to raise, the air suddenly rich with screams, not his own, with scent of blood-

He could move.

He rolled onto his side, his ribs grinding together, his knee not moving properly, but now the Force was moving through him, with him, obeying his commands, sure and cool like a stream, a roaring river, powerful and lethal. He got onto his knees, forehead against firm surface, and tried to get his hands under himself, but something was wrong with his right hand, something not even the Force could solve. He opened his eyes, angled his head to see what-

His right hand wasn’t there.

He stared at the blackened stump. His right hand wasn’t there, his arm ended at his wrist, where the sharp pain was coming from, some form of dressing hanging from one side, apparently not finished, not covering the black, cauterised edges-

His right hand wasn’t there.

A sudden pinch in his back, a quiet noise. Someone at his back, swatted like a mynock in an instant, but too late, he hadn’t noticed the thread in his shock until too late, and now, now-

Now he fell into darkness and knew no more.

 

***

 

He drifted. At times, he was submerged in the inky blackness, colder than any night on Tatooine, colder than the open space, than the death of millions… At other times he was drifting, almost surfacing, almost there- and there would be loud, disbelieving noises, a feeling of panic in the Force, and he would be pulled into the darkness again, down, down, where there was nothing...

 

***

 

He was getting close, he could feel it, his awareness returning, the outside world getting closer, clearer, and this time there were no noises, no fear, no one to oppose him, he would make it, he would-

Awake.

He laid still. With an enormous effort of will, he laid still and kept his breathing deep and rhythmical, his frame relaxed, his face slack. It was a trick all Rebel fighters were taught (if they lived long enough) in case of capture and possible interrogation. It had taken him ages to master it, but he had, with Leia’s whispered recollections of her time at the Death Star ringing in his ears, he had, and now it would help him, give him time to orient himself, to reach out with the Force to know what his closed eyes couldn’t see.

His body, mostly healed save for the missing right hand (don’t think about it, don’t lose your concentration, later-), laid on a narrow, soft surface, no binders anywhere on him, no shackles, no drugs in his system. Further, a small room, two exits, both locked, filtered, odourless air, no sound from outside getting in (no sounds getting out?). No faint vibrations of hyperspace flight, no subtle pull of a false gravity, so probably not a Star Destroyer, no (medical, interrogation?) droids present, no organic life-forms either, except-

Except a human male standing between him and one of the exists, radiating calm and trying to appear nonthreatening, blazing in the Force.

In a flash, he was upright and away, in the corner of the room furthest from the man, the Force drawn around him tight like a shield, his knees lightly bend, his shoulders snapping with tension, light on the balls of his feet, ready for anything, for fight, for pain, for snap of the red lightsabre (for _this is your destiny, my-),_ for-

The man hadn’t moved, hadn’t outwardly reacted at all. The Force around him remained calm, passive, not the cold raging inferno Luke had been expecting. The man-

The man was not Darth Vader.

Luke took a deep breath, then another, adrenaline making his vision swim alarmingly. He studied the stranger without relaxing his defensive stance, taking in the brown and sand-coloured robes (unsettlingly familiar), no visible weapons, the caramel skin and light hair, deep wrinkles on a narrow face. Non-threatening. Another breath, another long look, finally beginning to think, not just react, noticing things beyond the obvious: no visible weapons, seeming relaxed, but his stance was subtly balanced, ready to move in an instant, his hands in plain view but free. His back was to the door, beyond which many life-forms seemed to be mingling, possibly awaiting orders. So, not outwardly aggressive, but ready. The Force around the man was deep and calm, in a very deliberate way, almost smoothing, subtly influencing. Influencing Luke.

With a shudder he abruptly remembered (too late!) to shield, to make himself small and insignificant in the Force, the very first thing master Yoda had taught him, the most vital one in a galaxy dominated by the Sith. A long blink, the last deep breath tasting the Force and he was gone, his presence hidden, his perception of the Force basic and passive, his signature as common and easy to overlook as a small bat on Dagobah or any other young man in a crowd. Hidden. Safe.

Of course, by then it was already too late. The stranger had felt him just as surely as he had felt the stranger, but at least now he wouldn’t be able to use the Force to read or influence Luke. Hopefully.

Long minutes passed with the man observing Luke and Luke getting his bearing, slowly uncurling from his huddled stance, testing the strength of his muscles (not good), scanning his surroundings (no viable weapons or means of escape), looking anywhere but at his right hand, trying to _think_. The man didn’t look or feel like an Imperial, but that meant nothing, the Alliance had many enemies and even more opportunistic bounty-hunters tailing after them (and the reward for Luke was staggeringly high, with a surprising, deeply worrying “alive only” addendum. At least now he knew why-). But his Force presence, not dark, but not hidden either… How…

“Greetings, young one,” the man eventually broke the silence. “There is no reason to be alarmed. No one here intends you any harm.”

His voice was as serene as his presence, Basic spoken with a smooth, lilting voice, his Coruscanti accent noticeable. Luke had only ever heard Mon Mothma speak like that, culture and sureness (and entitlement, he sometimes couldn’t help but add) dripping from every rounded syllable. He didn’t respond, didn’t react at all.

After a long pause the stranger continued:

“I am Jedi Master Ahimga Nesh’d. I am here to help you, in any way I can.”

A Jedi Master? What…

Again, he didn’t react, this time more out of shock than anything else. A Jedi Master? Still alive? So strong, blazing in the Force, not hiding in some remote corner of the galaxy? Admitting to the fact?!

Impossible.

The man (Master Nesh’d?) waited another long moment, then spoke again, this time in a series of clicks and rolling words that Luke recognised as Mando’a. A few minutes of silence, then another language and Luke knew enough of Corellian to comprehend that the stranger was repeating his earlier words, apparently believing Luke hadn’t understood him.

A deep wave of relief almost knocked Luke down on his knees.

His shields were working. He had never had the chance to test them beyond Master Yoda’s examinations, hadn’t even tried against Vader, not when he was willingly walking into a trap, and now, remaining opaque to this force-sensitive man ( _could_ he actually _be_ a Jedi Master?) was a welcome confirmation. The stranger couldn’t read him, couldn’t feel his comprehension in the Force. He was speaking again, this time in a hissing language Luke didn’t recognise, so he didn’t even know which language Luke spoke…

He didn’t know who Luke is.

Not an Imperial, then. Nor a bounty hunter either, probably not a smuggler nor an informant, not someone interested in galactic politics at all. Once the Empire had his name and face both had been widely publicised, accompanied by the lengthy list of his crimes (starting with joining the Rebellion and destroying the Death Star, ah, excuse him, an Imperial research station manned entirely by civilians) and the astronomical bounty on his capture. Being part of any undercover missions after that was right on impossible; everyone knew who he was. Well. Apparently, everyone except for this supposed Jedi Master.

What was going on?

Only one way to find out.

 

***

 

Jedi Master Nesh’d was deeply troubled. He kept his face impassive with force of long habit, his senses calm, but watching this strange young man, barely more than a youngling, huddle and tense and wield the Force with ruthless, half-mad vehemence, he felt deeply, profoundly troubled.

Another long silence, and he was going to run out of languages he spoke with any efficiency soon. Where had this wild youth came from?

“I speak Basic,” came a hoarse whisper. The child winced and swallowed, his discomfort obvious.

“That’s good news, indeed,” he allowed, wondering why the admission was so long coming. Patience, he reminded himself. He nodded to the table by the far wall. “There is some water and light food rations here, if you care for anything. I understand you have been unconscious for a long time, you must be thirsty.”

The child tiled his had but didn’t look, made no move to take any of the offered water. His eyes were dark and wary.

“How long was I here?”

Nesh’d considered forcing the issue, for the raspy whisper was almost painful to listen to, but decided against it. He could feel there would be bigger battles coming soon.

“Ten standard days, as I have been informed.”

Another strained silence. The child kept clenching and unclenching his left fist, perhaps unconsciously, his right hand carefully kept back.

“Why was I kept under for so long? My… injuries surely hadn’t been that severe.”

Nesh’d instantly noticed the distinction, the subtle accusation. _Careful now,_ the Force all but whispered to him. _Be careful how you deal with this injured rancor hatchling._

“It seems we have different definitions of severe, young one,” he replied, glancing meaningfully at the bandaged stump.

Wrong thing to say, he realised instantly. The child didn’t answer the unasked question, as Nesh’d had hoped. Instead he stilled for a second, then moved slightly, taking a minuscule step forward, posture tensing and bending anew, angling to the left, no longer purely defensive. The air seemed to turn colder, and through the child’s Force signature remained maddeningly obscure, some old, nearly forgotten instinct warned Nesh’d of danger.

Which was patently ridiculous. The child was still exhausted, deeply hurt, barely staying upright and _missing his right hand_ , and he posed no possible threat to an experienced Jedi Master. Yet the feeling persisted, sending a cold shudder down his spine, almost like-

The Dark Side.

He took an involuntary step backward, studying the child again, all senses strained to any hint of Force presence… Nothing. But he had felt him earlier and no, the child was no Sith, not even the apprentice, powerful and guarded as he undoubtedly was. Even so, the Darkness seemed to cling to him, pooling in his eyes, along his sinewy arms, jealous and eager.

Troubling indeed. What had _happened_ to this child?

“Forgive me,” he started again. Patience, he must have patience. “You are quite correct, your injuries, while serious, had not demanded such a prolonged period of unconsciousness. However, I understand that upon being discovered and provided treatment, you became violent and injured the first response team. After that, they felt it was in everyone’s best interest to keep you insensible until suitable precautions could be taken.”

“And are you?” the child seemed almost… amused and resigned at the same time. What an odd combination. “Are you the suitable precaution?”

“I should hope,” he spoke slowly, wary of misstepping again “that your initial reaction was merely a result of shock and not malice, and that no such precautions will be necessary now.”

The child was silent for a discouragingly long moment, then uttered a deep sigh and slowly moved back to the narrow med-bed, leaning upon it, obviously already tired by their short conversation. The pallor of his face was alarmingly grey along the edges, his lips compressed into a thin line of exhaustion. Still, his eyes remained trained on Nesh’d, sharp as ever.

“Are they alright?” he asked abruptly. “I haven’t done any permanent damage, have I?”

He appeared quite genuine in his inquiry, and Nesh’d felt himself relax at long last. No, troubled and frankly alarming as the youth was, he was no Sith.

“You need not worry yourself,” he assured, “all of them will recover with time and care.”

Quite a lot of both in some cases, but the child was obviously burdened enough, no sense in heaping more upon these bruised shoulders.

“Why are you here, then? If not to…” the child waved his left arm feebly, apparently not willing to voice the unpleasant alternative.

“To help you, as I have told you already,” he took a few slow steps towards the child, stopping at once when he abruptly moved away, swaying alarmingly on his feet. Stubborn. “But I believe that’s quite enough for today, you are still fatigued and need more rest.”

“Why are you here?” a slight lift of his chin as the child entirely ignored his comment. “ _How_ are you here? Am I supposed to believe that you just miraculously _happened_ to be here when you were needed?”

“The will of the Force may seem miraculous indeed,” he allowed a warm amusement to colour his tone and the child blushed, catching the gentle rebuke. He grew sombre quickly. “But you must realize that whatever happened to you had caused deep ripples in the Force, a disturbance unlike any I have ever felt. It was powerful enough to be felt in Nebiosa system, where I was at the time, to be felt in Coruscant, and probably even further through the galaxy. I was nearest to it, to _you,_ and so I was send to investigate.”

“Send by who?”

“The Jedi High Council, of course.”

“Of course” the child’s voice was truly faint now, and Nesh’d took another involuntary step forward. This has gone on long enough.

“While the Council is most interested in hearing your tale, it can wait for another day,” he said while slowly moving around the med-bed, hoping that- yes, the child took a few steps away from him, closer to the bed and support it offered. “You still have much recuperating before you, and I am not going anywhere. Rest, child.”

“Don’t call me that!” the rebuke was instantaneous, almost violent. The wisps of Darkness clinging to the child pulsed, greedy.

He replied slowly, saddened anew at the child’s pain, wondering what laid in his past that such a simple name could provoke so strong a reaction. What experience, what loss had tainted him so?

“When you are as old as I am, I am afraid that all not grey and bend with age will seem young to you, as well. And-” he couldn’t help but add, with little hope “you have not given me your name, young one.”

The child froze, weight leaning against the med-bed, arms tense, head bend so that the unkept hair and shadows obscured his face from Nesh’d. In the sudden silence something unfurled in the Force, something old, old and great and monstrous. Nesh’s knew, with sudden, frightening clarity, that here was a moment of truth, of change, of things being decided by one to affect all. The galaxy held its breath.

“My name. My name…” the laugh that escaped the child was a truly horrible sound. He lifted his head slightly, an almost proud gesture, and there was a terrible gentleness in his eyes. Slowly, he smiled.

Nesh’d had to avert his eyes.

“You may call me Lukka. Lukka Ekkreth.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big thanks to amazing Princessleia9977, who has sacrificed her time and (probably) patience to be my beta. All the remaining mistakes are my own.

The next few days passed in a sort of a blur. He slept a lot, his body still weak; he ate and drank, not truly tasting any of the light, local food. He annoyed the medical droids with his insistence on walking, moving, pushing himself faster and harder than OB-3 told him was wise. He gathered as much information as he could while avoiding Master Nesh’d’s own inquiries.

He tried very hard not to think.

On his second day in med-bay, a small team of droids attached a mechanical hand to the blackened stump on his right arm. It was nothing like the prosthetic he had sometimes seen in the veteran soldiers, no synthetic skin, no nerve receptors, no pretending that it was anything but an ugly, purely functional machine grafted to his living body. He could barely bear to look at it.

On his fourth day, he finally felt well enough and restless enough to test some boundaries. While Master Nesh’d called them both guests of the Bespin government (and hadn’t that been like a Bantha kick to the gut to learn that he was still, somehow, on Bespin?) and Luke’s room didn’t resemble a cell, he was unsure of his official status. Everything he could ask for had been provided and brought to him, starting with bacta patches and ending with well-cut clothes and expensive mecho-arm. He was well treated and told to rest, questioning limited to Master Nesh’d careful probing which, while not exactly easy to evade, was light years away from interrogation droids, pain and drugs the Empire was so famed for using.

At the same time, he had been subtly, very politely discouraged from wandering away from his quarters, which held no computer terminal, no comlink and certainly no weapons. He had no contact with any organic life forms, bar Master Nesh’d, his care had been left entirely to droids, which were not programmed to share any information not related to his health. His room wasn’t monitored (and he had spent a good while making sure of that), but his progress, words and behaviour were undoubtedly closely watched and reported. To Jedi High Council on Coruscant, of all things!

He really tried not to think about it. Or about how he got here, or what happened before that. Or what he was going to do now, if he could do anything, what _should he be doing-_

He wasn’t thinking about it, wasn’t _ready_ to even try, not without his breath speeding up and his vision darkening. He was a farm boy from a forgotten corner of the galaxy, a simple pilot ( _-but you are not a Jedi yet)_ , he simply wasn’t equipped to deal with problems like that.

He was just himself, Luke Skywalker, lost and alone and barely holding it together, unsure of everything; he was suddenly exposed to the bleak doubts like never before, with no genius plan in his mind. But he would deal. He may have had nothing of Leia’s diplomacy, or Han’s experience, or Yoda’s wisdom, but he had Tatooine tenacity, the stubborn refusal to bow to the inevitable, and he would deal. Somehow.

For now, he would see how far his status as a guest expanded.

 

***

 

As it turned out, Bespin guests had doors that while unlocked, were guarded by a droid (protocol, no battle droid, for some strange reason) that politely but firmly requested that Luke remained in his room. He had just as politely agreed, then proceeded to use the Force (while maintaining his shields, which wasn’t any fun) and his not inconsiderable experience as a wanted fugitive to escape by the window. Apparently, nobody had expected him to be stupid enough to try that route.

He spent the next few hours wondering around the city, being careful to always remain out of sight, a feat made easier by the fact that, for once, no one was looking for him. The corridors of the floating city (he had never caught its name) were hauntingly familiar, for all that the technology was obviously years, decades old. The twisting, wide open hallways and echoing halls sent cold shivers down his spine, making him very conscious of being unarmed, almost expecting to hear a _snap-hiss_ of a lightsaber behind every darkened corner.

Feeling annoyed with himself, he finally wandered into an unused office, empty and uninteresting but for one thing: several computer terminals. All of them password protected, but here the Force was his ally once again, almost whispering the right combination into his ear.

(It had been doing it a lot recently, mostly at night, its tireless voice all but purring along his skin, whispering tales of a new chance, of ascendency, of such power…)

The computer had Basic usage option and, even better, a connection to outside network. Good. Time to find out a few things.

 

***

 

Three hours later he was sitting on a balcony high above the sleeping city, utterly exhausted.

He was in the past. Or at last that was the only explanation other than total insanity married to incredibly realistic hallucinations, but the Force would not let him believe that, tempting as it was (and didn’t it say a lot about his life, that madness seemed a better option?).

He was in the past. Somehow, he had no idea how, he fell from Bespin during the slow-burning Civil War against the Empire and woke up in Bespin prospering under the rule of the Galactic Republic. He had no idea _when_ exactly he was, the date had been entirely meaningless to him: the Empire had changed calendar and started counting time from its own creation; the Alliance followed that to make coordinating military operations easier, and he had always been using the Hutt time reckoning anyway, as did everyone on Tatooine. For all he knew, he could be entire decades or mere days from the fall of the Republic. Neither thought brought him much comfort.

Truth be told, he had half-suspected something of that kind ever since hearing about Jedi Masters and the Jedi Council on Coruscant (not the Imperial Center), spoken proudly and without a hint of fear, of that ever-present watchfulness he had grown used to in the Alliance. Here, now, being a Jedi was an honour, and one not bought with blood and tears, either.

A distant part of him recognized this bizarre circumstance as his chance to finally learn without persecution, to stop fighting for his life and dedicate himself to discovering the ways of the Force… To become a Jedi, like his father before him.

Oh, the bitter irony…

He could do it, he though distantly, eyes locked on the cold stars. He could invent some likely story and find shelter within the Jedi Order. Learn and grow. There was nothing stopping him. No one to call him selfish, reckless, too much like his father. No one to point out there’s a war to be fought and he had to do his part (if he could destroy the Death Star with one shot, why wouldn’t he save their friend/brother/mother/win this war already?).

There was no one to hold him back, simply because there was no one who knew him.

He sprung to his feet, exhaustion forgotten in the face of this desolate, unbearable truth: he was alone. For the first time in his life, he was totally alone in the vast galaxy, with no home to go to, no comrades awaiting his return, no friends worrying about him, not even his enemies hunting for him. He could jump from this balcony to his death and no one would care beyond the momentary inconvenience.

Stars, it was intolerable!

He paced the small terrace, agitated by his own circling thoughts. Surely there was some way to reverse it, to find his way back? There had to be! Anything was better than this total isolation.

Suddenly desperate, he sat down and sank into meditation, calling the Force to him, merging with it, becoming one. If there was a way back, he would find it and damn the consequences. He reached out, past his body, past the cold gas giant, into the void between the stars, seeking, searching for a spark of recognition, a way home. He felt distant planets and further still, alien star systems, black holes and red suns, remote worlds teeming with life, buzzing with civilizations, languages, arts and science; all of them utterly, inescapably foreign to him.

Dimly, with a part of him that was still Luke Skywalker, he considered calling out to Yoda; his powerful, wise ( _deceitful_ , something in him hissed) Master would surely hear him and know how to help him. But what if it wasn’t his teacher that would hear the call, but the other being with the same face and name? Leia, then; she had heard him earlier ( _and still left him to die_ ) and she wasn’t even born yet, of this he was sure.

He didn’t dare, even now, to call out her name, but he gathered his memories of her, his knowledge of her strength and fears as well as her compassion and temper and strange fascination with Belguin pisnu instruments, of all things, and send it out, through the star system and further, echoing across the galaxy. He felt others notice, other Force users hear the crystal gong that was his impression of Leia, hear and not understand and wonder, but he didn’t care. He was listening, straining, hoping to hear-

Nothing.

Nothing in the Force, in the entire galaxy, that resembled her.

Slowly he returned to himself, noticing others trying to follow him, seeking to find out more, to find him, and hurt and irritated he swatted them away, not willing to share his pain, to show his vulnerability. He tried to breathe past the crushing disappointment, to release his feelings into the Force, but still the ache remained, taunting him, reminding him-

Reminding him that there was one other person he could call.

Beyond despair, beyond caring about the consequences, he reached out again. This time he thought about everything Vader was, everything his father had been ( _murderer_ , _absent,_ _enemy, freed slave, hunter, pilot, powerful, missed, despised, longed for, hated, better avoided, loved, feared and yet_ -), all that he had heard and seen and felt himself, and again flung it out into the darkness between heartbeats. This time, oh this time he felt the instant reaction: the Darkness surged, hungry and eager, reaching out for him, to embrace and keep him, so he would never be alone again-

No! It wasn’t Vader, it wasn’t the freezing black sun of his father’s presence, all impatience and possessive anger, tasting of ashes and old betrayals. This was something else, _someone_ else, a powerful presence, old and cunning and full of malice, searching for him, following his call.

With a gasp Luke broke the connection, abruptly returning into his own body, hastily rebuilding his shields. He bent over, trying to breathe past the constriction around his chest, around the painful lack of the deeper perception, deeper understanding that meditation always afforded him. It was jarring, compressing himself into a single human being, when a moment ago he could feel the whole star sectors, _be_ the galaxy.

He breathed.

Finally, after several long moments, he gathered himself and straightened up, looking into the deep eyes and tight face of Master Nesh’d, seated next to him.

“Whom have you contacted?”

 

***

 

The child looked at him blankly and Nesh’d repeated his question, trying to keep emotions out of his face and voice, not reaching out and shaking some sense into that empty head, but stars! What had Lukka been thinking? What, whom had he been communicating with, across the distance that Nesh’d had trouble truly understanding, never mind trying to reach across?

Whatever that was, it had left the child pale and visibly shaken, the Darkness always clinging to him agitated, a seething, possessive nest of firevipers. Nesh’d swallowed past the nausea and tried again:

“Whom have you contacted?”

Lukka shook his head tiredly and looked away.

“No one.”

Nesh’d felt himself stiffen at the obvious lie. The first one, as far as he could tell. Lukka had previously avoided his questions, true, misdirected, countered with his own questions or point blank refusal to answer, citing tiredness, but he had never lied to Nesh’d before. The Dark Side hissed around them, gleeful, making Nesh’d tone sharper than intended when he replied.

“Such lies do not become you, young one. I have felt you reach out, as had every other Jedi across the galaxy, I would wager. For one so paranoid about maintaining your shields, you have left yourself wide open this time.”

“Yeah, I know” Lukka murmured, his head lifting to look at the sunrise slowly colouring the clouds around them. “I was just trying…”

He studied the child as the sentence died unfinished. He looked truly unwell, pushed beyond the mere physical tiredness, and yet still pushing himself further, always restless, constantly in motion. Even if that motion meant leaving his room without any authorization or a guide, probably roaming around the city when he should be resting, and finally sending out what could only be described as a distress call.

Nesh’d looked away, deeply uncomfortable with what he had perceived during these brief moments when the Force had rung with Lukka’s plea. And a plea it was, for all its strength (and that had been enough to steal his breath, because to encounter such power, in one so young…), a plea and a cry for help, for the other to find him and help him. He couldn’t understand more than that, the emotions were far too complex and the message not meant for him, but still, one thing stood out clearly-

Whoever it was that the child had been reaching out to they had failed to answer.

“Lukka…” pity gentled his voice as he tried yet again. “What were you trying to do?”

It took long moments for the child to answer, his eyes still facing away.

“I was trying to find a way home, to- to my friends.”

The sadness in his voice was such that Nesh’d decided to forgo the usual warning about attachment. Later.

“Whatever it is you need help with, you can tell me. The Council will help you find your way home, if that is what you wish. I will help you.”

And he would, whatever happened, whatever the other’s story was. The child obviously needed someone to offer help, to be there.

“No,” Lukka replied, slowly shaking his head. “Thank you, but- it’s impossible. If there was a way- if my friend could hear me, she would’ve replied, I’m sure. She’s gone. They all are. Gone and lost to me-” his voice, cracking and wavering, finally broke.

They both felt silent. Nesh’d pretended he couldn’t see the child’s silent tears.

The sun was high when Lukka’s grief spent itself for the moment and Nash’d felt it was safe to move, to find a way back to their quarters.

But first, one last thing.

“Lukka” he slowly reached out, gently touching the child’s arm, not reacting to the instant stiffness in the limb. Touch had its own healing power, if given a chance. “Lukka, I heard your call, both of them, and even if I could not understand the whole message… The second one did not seem like a call to a friend.”

“No” the child chuckled darkly, his right hand clenching with a sudden burst of pain in the Force, and Nesh’d felt himself pale at the implication. “No, he’s no friend of mine. But… Well, it sounds crazy, but I know he’s the only person in the entire galaxy with both enough motivation _and_ power to reach me. If it was at all possible, he’d have come. If only to finish what he had started.”

Jedi Master Nesh’d could only sit stunned anew as this strange, damaged youth smiled at him and slowly walked away, leaving him alone, the sun a cold comfort in the distant sky.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have updated tags for violence; I don't think it's especially graphic, but it is there, so please, just be aware.  
> As always, a big thank you to my beta, Princessleia9977, who has been a great help.

He wasn’t surprised when, on the day following his ill-advised… what? A call to both his best friend and to his mortal enemy? One that apparently echoed across the wide space for everyone to notice, because yeah, why bother with remaining inconspicuous? He was Luke Skywalker, Rebel hero from Yavin and an aspiring Jedi Knight. He could do whatever he damn well pleased, even if it meant shooting himself in the foot.

(Was he still Luke Skywalker? Even if his father was not Anakin Skywalker? Without his past, his lightsaber, _his hand,_ his friends, his cause…  What was left? Who _was_ he?)

Anyway, he wasn’t really surprised when Master Nesh’d told him they were leaving for Coruscant in an hour. He was just too numb to care. Numb and tired and somewhat resigned, past the disbelief and denial, but not yet filled with anything else other than vague apathy. For a first time in longer than he could remember he had no obvious goal ahead of him: no mission to run, no enemy to evade, no Empire to fight. It should have felt freeing.

Instead he felt uprooted. Lost.

A distant part of him recognised and resented the fact that he had been given little warning, like a prisoner not given any chance to plan his escape before a transfer to another prison block. A few minutes to pack his clothing and a few essentials and he had to join Master Nesh’d to walk to their transport. Good thing he had the experience as an Alliance fighter to fall on. He was ready in short order and half an hour later they were leaving the cold blue planet behind them.

Luke Skywalker had always wanted to see more of the galaxy, had been excited every time he visited a new planet.

Now he looked at the steaks of hyperspace and felt nothing.

 

***

 

He had never been to Coruscant, of course not, he hadn’t even gone to any of the Core Worlds, the bounty on his head had made him far too recognisable and anyway, the Alliance had more of a sympathetic public in the Outer Rim. He had no idea what to expect, what to prepare himself for, and not nearly enough time to do so, anyway.

Or so he had thought.

“What do you mean, a short stop?” he asked, rather incredulously, during their third day of travel.

Master Nesh’d looked at him in that calm, unflappable way he had until Luke felt like a naïve kid. Again. He despised that look.

“We need to refuel, possibly acquire a few other supplies. The journey to Coruscant is hardly short and while the Bespin government had, very generously, gifted us with the bare necessities, there is no need to make our voyage more uncomfortable than it must be.”

Luke just looked at him for a long moment, frankly baffled.

Bare necessities? They were _gifted_ (and stars, where in the galaxy did people just _give_ you anything?) with enough rations, first-aid medical supplies, and power cells to keep his whole squadron going for at least a week, provided they were careful with rationing, and Master Nesh’d called it “bare necessities”? What more could he possibly want?

And how long could it be before they got to the Coruscant? Bespin was at the outer edge of the Western Reaches, true, and their ship was hardly a racing cruiser, but even so, it shouldn’t take more than ten days, not unless they left the known hyperlanes. Or make unnecessary _risky_ stops.

To refuel, of all things! Unless…

“Is there something wrong with the ship’s fuelling system? Or with the hyperdrive?”

“No” Master Nesh’d seemed surprised. “Not that I know of, anyway. Why do you ask?”

“And would you know if something was wrong with it? How is your astromechanic, Master Nesh’d?”

It seemed obvious to him that every pilot should have at least _some_ knowledge of how to repair their ship in a pinch, but this wasn’t the Alliance, starved for both qualified techs and supplies, using and reusing parts that should have probably been long discarded. Best not to make assumptions.

“Well, I might not be the best ship mechanic in the universe, but I do believe I would have noticed if the hyperdrive failed. The very loud, very annoying alarm would be rather hard to miss, young one.”

He gritted his teeth and turned away, refusing to apologise for a perfectly legit question. Still, if there was nothing wrong with the hyperdrive but they still had to refuel… Maybe it was the cooling agent or some glitch in the tube wiring…

“Where are the ship’s schematics, Master Nesh’d? I’d like to have a look at them.”

Should have looked at them long time ago, the very first day when he failed to recognise the slim ship model, but he had been too distracted, too involved with his personal drama to _pay attention_ -

“Do I even dare to ask why?” Master Nesh’d shook his head fondly and started in the direction of the cockpit. “The files are on the main computer and you may look at them to your heart’s content _after_ we return from today’s excursion.”

“Of course,” he conceded, knowing (usually) when he was beaten. “And where exactly are we stopping?”

“On Jagddum, in about ten minutes, so I suggest…” Master Nesh’d tailed off, as Luke had already strapped himself to the co-pilot chair and was in the process of checking out the unfamiliar controls (another thing he should have done sooner, what was he thinking-).

The panel layout was frankly baffling: the mess of buttons and levers much more pleasant to the eye than his X-wing’s controls, but there were so many of them… After a few minutes and some questions, he started to figure them out (just as he always did, he was one of the best pilots in the Alliance, he could fly anything, just like-). The most important controls were located near the centre, the hyperdrive lever, the shields display, the realspace speed stick, the atmosphere and false gravity readouts… On the outside, there were the (bit) less important systems, like the temperature controllers and biohazard containers fail-save displays… But where-

“Where are the weapons targeting systems?”

“We don’t have any.”

No targeting system. All right, he knew that the Force was the best targeting computer there could be, and he himself usually forgo electronic help during the missions, but still. A ship build without an operational targeting system would be useless to anyone but the Jedi, a terrible waste of resources.

“Well then, how do you operate the main weapons? I can’t find any controls.”

“I meant, we don’t have any weapons.”

“What do you mean, we don’t have any weapons!”

Master Nesh’d finally looked around at him, seemingly started at the shout, and yes, he should have a better control over his emotions, but no weapons! Stars, how- Who travelled on a ship with no weapons? Kriff, who would _build_ starships w _ith no weapons_?

“This is a personal cruiser, not a military craft,” Master’s Nesh’d voice was soft, slower than usual. _Condescension_ , the Force whispered. “We are on our way to the centre of the galaxy, not out to some Outer Rim gangland. What would we need weapons for?”

What would-

Sithspawn!

“And what,” he heard himself say as if from far away, his own voice thick with disdain “will you do if some of these gangs leave the Outer Rim and _attack you_ , Master Nesh’d? Or will your superior attitude be enough to defeat them?”

 

***

 

Nesh’d could only stare at the young man (there was nothing of a child in him now) next to him, completely nonplussed. What in all the stars..?

“That is very unlikely,” he started carefully, unsure of his footing on this minefield that had unexpectedly sprung between them.

“Oh?”

“Well, for starters, the space around the worlds we are visiting is very well protected by the local forces, I have not heard of any untoward incidents in years. Besides, we are emitting our recognition code loud and clear.”

Lukka bowed his head for a moment, but not in deference, Nesh’d could see that clearly. The Force rolled around them, cold and slimy like a dead vectoslug.

“And just what is this recognition code?”

“Why, the standard Jedi Mission code, of course.”

“Of course. Sure. Why not?”

Lukka closed his mouth with an abrupt c _lick_ and remained silent for a long moment, the syntocover of his seat cracking under his hands. Nesh’d stayed very, very still.

“So, not only are we flying a completely unarmed starship, relying on efficiency and integrity of locals to keep us safe, but we’re also transmitting a code which identifies us as a Jedi craft?”

“Well, yes. Of course we are, that is the standard procedure. And really, I fail to see a problem, young one, it is a time tried and approved method of-“

Lukka abruptly stood up, thankfully interrupting Nesh’d nervous chatter (and why was he justifying himself to some youngling?) and gesturing sharply.

“Please, get up.”

“Excuse me?” surely he had heard wrong.

“Get up. Please. I’m piloting.”

“Wh- But you are unfamiliar with the ship, with the controls-“

“I’ll manage, now please get up before we enter realspace.”

Bewildered, a little insulted, but not sensing any malice or danger, Nesh’d did as he was… asked and strapped himself to the co-pilot’s seat instead. He was then delegated to merely watching as Lukka studied a few readouts, adjusted some controls and smoothly brought them out of the hyperspace. Yes, the child was a natural pilot, that much was readily apparent, even if he had a strange way of going about things. But when he noticed that they had stopped transmitting their recognition code he couldn’t refrain from commenting. Now, really!

“May I ask why are we going in without the code which is both our protection and assurance of support from the local government?”

“Because I don’t want anyone to know we’re coming.”

“Yes, that much is obvious. Why?”

This time he was outright ignored.

 

***

 

A few hours later he was re-checking their new spaceship when he felt Master Nesh’d return from his errand (a visit to the local bazaar, going by the packages at his side) and stop at the entrance to the docking bay, speechless. It didn’t last long.

“What is this- this monstrosity?”

“It’s our new ship, Master Nesh’d.”

“Wh- You had no authorisation to replace our craft! It was the property of the Jedi Order, not yours to- to sell-“

“I bartered.”

“-and it certainly was not your place to decide to do so! Besides, I am sure it was in better repair than this- this-“

“Piece of junk?”

“Exactly!”

“Well, it was more pleasant to look at, sure,” he allowed, finally climbing from the service patch on the ship’s left flank and looking at the irritated Jedi Master. Oh, Nesh’d looked calm enough, but the Force did not lie.

It seemed he had a talent for irritating other Force users. Or authority figures. Or maybe both?

“Aesthetic appreciation aside, it was also-“

“Bigger, I’ll grant you that, we’ll need to squeeze a bit. But, on the other hand, this one has better shields, quicker realspace engines _and_ weapons, lasers and compressed torpedoes both.”

“Weapons…” Master Nesh’d took a step back, almost stumbling. “Is this what it all has been about, weapons? Can you really not survive a few days without any means of mass destruction?”

That stung. It’s not like he liked killing others in dogfights or enjoyed whipping out military bases with all of their personnel, soldiers, and civilians alike… And it was a starship, not a Death Star, for-

He turned around and marched up the ramp before he could say something he would later regret.

 

***

 

The next few hours were tense. The Jedi Master was silent but obviously disapproving. Luke kept silent and busy studying the finer points of the ship’s schematics.

(And wasn’t it unfortunate that there really hadn’t been anything wrong with their previous ship’s hyperdrive? This one was just as slow: the technology hadn’t yet been refined to allow for quicker travel in hyperspace without losing the trajectory and risking collision with any of the millions of gravity wells. It was truly frustrating.)

The standoff would have probably continued longer but for one fact: Master’s Nesh’d inability to cook.

“Wait, wait, what are you doing?”

“What does it look like, young one?”

“Well, under any other circumstances I’d call it cooking, but-”

“Truly, your observation skills do you credit.”

 “-but _this_ would be better described as a massacre.”

“Oh, come now-“

Master Nesh’d had apparently acquired some fresh ingredients while on Jagddum (what was wrong with food rations?) but lacked any cooking ability; his approach seemed to be to throw it all into a pot and hope for the best.

Luke couldn’t stand the sheer _waste._

“No, wait, please let me, Master Nesh’d- no, not like that!”

He wasn’t a chef himself by any means, but Aunt Beru had taught him the basics. The way to make a little last, the same way all people of the desert had been eating for millenniums, and later, after she and Uncle Owen had been-- after, he had picked up some more exotic recipes from Han and Chewie and from some of his squadron mates… Even Leia had an Alderaani dish or two she would fondly describe, but not usually know how to prepare, after all princesses weren’t known for their cooking skills, a fact Han used to tease her about…

“Lukka?”

“I- it’s nothing, Master Nesh’d. I’m fine. Now _please_ , stop tormenting that plumpor and peel it like this-“

 

***

 

Their new ship _was_ smaller than the previous one, forcing them to sleep in one cabin on twin bunks. He had no problems with that arrangement, having grown used to sharing space while in the Alliance. The first night he slipped into the top bunk expecting a quiet night.

He really should have known better.

He came to with a rush of blood loud in his ears, all his muscles tense, his hand still outstretched. The Force was a frenzied storm around him, ready to protect him, to destroy anything at his barest wish, anything at all.

Including Master Nesh’d, held up against the opposite wall by the oppressive force of Luke’s command, slowly losing his consciousness.

He jerked his arm down, down and away, trying to breathe, to calm down and think past the roaring in his mind (past the s _nap-hiss_ of the red lightsaber, past the terrible, deep voice speaking of Darkness and Destiny-). His left hand was shaking while the mechanical one was terribly cold, made of Hoth’s ice, there was ice in his veins, behind his eyes...

Master Nesh’d was still plastered against the wall. His eyes were clenched in pain, his breathing very strained.

With a muttered curse Luke got himself under control, gripping with the freezing currents of the Force, struggling, _forcing_ them to obey his bidding, even if that meant stopping, letting the other go, even if that meant that he wouldn’t- wouldn’t- That there would be no death tonight.

Finally, after eon-long seconds, the Force bent to his wishes, unwilling like a lashed vintrocat, all reluctance and spitting incomprehension. It wanted to keep going, to keep pressing until the man under its power would cease breathing, until the fragile chest would curve, the ribs breaking, piercing lungs and heart and curving into muscles, blood spilling down the ship’s walls and deck, wetting his face-

He trembled with the strength of that desire.

For the next few moments (minutes? Longer? He had no idea) he took careful breaths, deep and slow, the way Master Yoda had taught him, calming himself, emptying his mind of every thought and desire, leaving only the physical sensation of air flowing into him (into his lungs, whole and not destroyed by the gleeful tide of the Force-). He didn’t look at the opposite wall, couldn’t bear to check if he had- if Master Nesh’d was alright.

He breathed.

“Are you well, Lukka?”

He had to swallow a few times, hating the way Master’s Nesh’d voice wavered, raspy and fatigued, the way he was the one to ask after Luke, even when- when-

“Lukka?”

“I’m sorry.”

Master Nesh’d sat next to him on the narrow bunk, his presence a calming glow within the Force. Luke suddenly wanted nothing more than to run away, to hide from that light and these old, wise eyes, but he had never been a coward and had no intention of starting now.

“Are _you_ alright, Master Nesh’d? I- I haven’t-“

“I am quite fine, young one, no reason to worry.”

Fine. As if Luke had no eyes to see his pale face, no ears to hear how thin his voice sounded, no Force to know that- to know.

“I think we have different definitions of fine, Master Nesh’d.”

That won him a feeble smile.

“In truth, you have nothing to berate himself for, it was entirely my own fault,” Master Nesh’d squeezed his shoulder and kept talking, unimpeded by Luke’s sceptical expression. “No, truly, I should have known better than to approach someone suffering from night terrors like that, looming in the dark. I do know better. What has happened was by no means a fault of yours.”

What has happened? What a nice euphemism for almost murdering someone.

“You mustn’t blame yourself, Lukka. I am unharmed and will know better than to try and wake you up in such a manner. Next time we will handle it better.”

No. There won’t be a next time.

And there wasn’t. He spent the rest of the ship’s sleep cycle awake, tinkering with the compressor systems in the small cargo hold. He kept a discreet eye on Master’s Nesh’d Force presence, watchful for any anomalies, any sight that he had been hurt worse than he let on. That Luke had hurt him worse.

Thankfully, the rest of the lights-out was uneventful, as were the nights after. Luke sometimes still had nightmares and violent starts (frequently, far too frequently, the Alliance medics wouldn’t call him battle-ready with such an interrupted sleep cycle, not to mention any possible psych eval). That wasn’t anything new, almost all Rebel fighters had sleepless nights after a few missions. It was considered almost a rite of passage, if a grim one, and all of them know how to deal with it, how not to startle someone suffering from a nightmare, how to give him space (Wedge), how to get drunk and silly together (Han and Chewie), how to nag and guilt him into eating and taking better care of himself (Leia). Only now none of his friends were with him. Master Nesh’d wasn’t a fellow Rebel, didn’t really know how to deal with Luke, _shouldn’t have to_ know.

And Luke, newly awoken to the Force, still badly shaken after Bespin and everything that came _after_ , was risking more than just accidentally shooting someone with a stunner bolt from a blaster always kept under his pillow (a common and sensible practice, as far as Rogues were concerned). Much more.

Suffice it to say, he made sure to take short naps during the day and never, ever slept at the same time nor in the same place as Master Nesh’d.

 

***

 

The child was troubled and frankly troubling, yet there was also an innocence about him that was endearing to witness, rare as its appearances were.

“But what does it do?”

“It generates an electronic field that one manipulates by moving their hands between the antennas, controlling pitch and volume. I wish I had one here with me, I am told the sight can be quite interesting.”

“And you use it to…?”

“Why, to play music, of course! With enough practice, it is possible to create surprisingly complex sound sequences, even whole concertos.”

“But- but why would you do that?”

And then there were times when his honest incomprehension caused Nesh’d heart to squeeze with pity.

“For pleasure, young one, for pure joy that music can bring.”

“… I think I would like to hear it, one day.”

“Once we land on Coruscant I will be sure to play you anything your heart desires.”

 

***

 

The long journey meant, among other things, that Master Nesh’d had more time to question him, and he was running out of ways to avoid any in-depth discussion. There was only so much time he could spend meditating, practicing the lightsaber’s forms (it wasn’t quite the same without an actual lightsaber, anyway) or tinkering around the ship without demolishing it. He tried to counter with his own questions, as he was honestly curious about life as a part of the Jedi Order, but that had left him wide open a whole new line of inquiry.

“Every Padawan is required to wear a small braid through their training, surely your mysterious teacher must have told you that.”

“But why do they need to wear a _braid_ of all things?”

“ _You_ need to do so for multiple reasons, the millennium old tradition being just one of them.”

“Not a very good one.”

“It also denotes your rank as a Jedi Padawan and is widely recognised as such across the galaxy.”

“So everyone knows you’re a Force user, that isn’t any-“

“And once you become a Jedi Knight you cut it to symbolise your advancement.”

“-I’d much rather just have a party, to be honest. With some dancing and good Corellian brandy and-“

“A Jedi must exercise control over himself all the times, must remain unclouded by any influences, _including alcohol_ -“

“You’re kriffing kidding me!”

“ _Who_ is your teacher? _What_ have they been teaching you? These are some of the most basic principles of the Jedi Code!”

There was a code?

 

***

 

He was observing Lukka during what could only be called a training session, contained as it was by their vessel’s size and the child’s lack of a sabre. At first he was worried about him, wary of his recently healed injuries, but quite unnecessary, as it readily became apparent. Now he watched in hopes of better understanding the child, finally starting to see the hidden angles of him, the deep rivers of emotions running along his movements.

Lukka during training became- not something else, but something _more._

Oh, he wasn’t perfect, far from it: he could become frustrated rather easily and often lost his concentration when some new, exciting idea entered that blond head of his, and he had the most ridiculous urge to aim too high, to always push for more. Apparently levitating five food rations at the same time wasn’t difficult enough, he just had to add some water, _without the container,_ to the mix. And then he grew irritated when Nesh’d couldn’t contain his chuckles at the resulting _splash_.

But whatever he was doing, be it physical exercise, telekinesis or lightsaber’s katas, he became wholly focused, wonderfully merged with the Force, with no fear or self-consciousness that Nesh’d had often seen in young Padawans. He not so much touched the Force as he _became_ one with it, entirely submerged in its flow. Nesh’d could achieve a similar state only while deep in meditation, calm and at peace, as was the case for most Force users; he would never be able to immerse himself in the Force to such a degree and remain aware enough of his surrounding to fight, aware enough of his _self_ to _wish_ to fight _._

That Lukka was doing it seemingly without an effort, every day for long stretches of time, that he appeared _frustrated_ with what he perceived as _slow progress…_

“I’ve been told that I’m not too bad to look at, but I’m sure that there are much more interesting things around, Master Nesh’d.”

Ah. Apparently, he had been a bit too obvious.

“Someone needs to make sure you don’t overtax yourself, young one.”

“I’m _fine._ ”

“So you say. It’s not that I do not appreciate your dedication, but surely there is no need to push yourself so much.”

“I need to get better.”

“At what?”

He had already learned not to ask for a reason; no true explanation could be dragged from the stubborn child, but sometimes, just sometimes, he could be prevailed upon to clarify.

“… I need to be a better fighter.”

“Young one…”

“Well, the last fight I was in, I _lost_ ,” Lukka hadn’t stopped the smooth movements through the katas, but something in his voice splintered. He almost growled the next words: “I could use some pointers if you’re determined to stare at me all day.”

“You know that is not possible, Lukka.”

 _Now_ the child stopped, arrested in half motion.

“What? Why not?”

“Because you already have a Master and I would not-“

“He’s dead!” the child exploded, looking at him with wild eyes. “Please stop asking me about him! He’s dead and gone and can’t teach me anything anymore! He can’t-“

He choked on his next words, abruptly turning away. The sudden silence seemed very empty.

“Lukka…”

He made a few steps in the child’s direction, but the cold stiffness in the Force warned him against coming any closer; no form of contact would be permitted, no friendly pat on the back nor a squeezed shoulder. Not now.

“I don’t have a teacher anymore.”

“I am sorry for your loss, but remember that your Master has become one with the Force. He will always be with you.”

“I know. But it’s not the same.”

“No. No, it isn’t. But time and the Force will help heal your wounds, young one.”

“I’m fine!”

Yes. Nesh’d could see just how _fine_ the child was.

 

***

 

They somehow circled back to that topic the next day after dinner (some exotic meat from their second refuelling stop, rich and tangy, which Master Nesh’d hadn’t managed to _quite_ ruin).

“Will I be able to find a new teacher on the Coruscanti?”

Master Nesh’d looked at him closely, as he always did when Luke betrayed himself with his lack of familiarity with _anything_ Jedi.

“How did you find your previous Master?”

“I dunno. It’s more he found me. Just when I needed him to. At that time I thought it was an accident.”

“No such thing, young one.”

“Yeah, he used to say that too.”

“What was his name?”

“… Ben. Everyone called him Old Ben, a crazy hermit that had lived in the area for forever…”

He looked into his evening cup of kaff, hoping to avoid further questioning at the topic, that old wound having never fully healed. Master Nesh’d was a kind man at heart and took the hint.

“Well, I do not see why you wouldn’t find a new teacher. Once the Council hears your tale- and Lukka, I understand your desire for privacy, but you _must_ be honest when talking to the Masters, it is of utmost importance that they know your story… But once you speak to them and answer all their questions, I am sure that they will clear you and allow you to finish your training.”

“Clear me? And _allow me_ to learn? I didn’t know I was a criminal, to be put on some sham of a trial, questioned and-“

“Lukka, please! Of course not, I have perhaps worded it wrongly-“

“And what happens if they _don’t_ clear me, for whatever reason? Will they _forbid_ me to learn, forbid others to teach me?”

“Why wouldn’t they clear you, young one?” Master Nesh’d lightly touched his arm, calming him down slightly but _not_ , as he noticed, answering his last question. Or perhaps that was all the answer he needed.

He took a moment to calm his galloping thoughts.

“No reason, Master Nesh’d. No reason at all.”

So that’s how it would be. One ruling court, no appeal, no clear rules that he could see. Not the democracy that the Republic had been supposedly based on, had stood as a guardian of, that Leia had loved so much and had suffered so much for, but rather the laws of the desert, all strength and teeth and respect. The kind of harsh living that made people harsh in turn. But that’s fine, he was born of the desert, it was in his blood, he could dance and wield its laws with the best of them. He would deal.

He always did.

 

***

 

Master Nesh’d had a surprisingly big repertoire of amusing, often amazing stories from his travels across the galaxy.

“- and then he looked at her and warbled something along the lines of _but you thought he was pretty too_!”

Luke hadn’t laughed so much since a half-drunk game of truth-or-dare at Hoth when Wiggs had to loudly demonstrate an old nursery rhyme.

It felt good to laugh again.

 

***

 

Their next stop was Honisd, a small planet port at which they arrived only after a series of hyperspace mini-jumps that Lukka had insisted on. Nesh’d had at this point given in to the child’s paranoia, had even started to find it charming in its quirkiness. After all, who would ever follow them? Whatever for?

First, they took care of necessities, buying fuel and power cells and food rations, then he almost dragged Lukka to the local market. He was aware that the child was uncomfortable with crowded spaces, but it was a habit that he would have to break soon, preferably before they arrived on Coruscant. Besides, if the impertinent child insisted on correcting his cooking technique, he could at least help with the purchases.

They were examining some local fruit when Lukka stilled, then abruptly dropped his bag and turned around, the Force around him suddenly alive, a spiky, prowling creature of ice and cruel winds. Nesh’d hadn’t heard anything, hadn’t _felt_ anything, but he trusted Lukka so he turned as well, moving slowly as through molasses, slow and old and useless…

And there, in front of them, stood an older man with sharp eyes and a lightsabre at his belt and face Nesh’d knew well, though they had never met. Everyone in the Order knew that face…

“Count Dooku. What an unexpected pleasure.”

The count smiled, slow and charming and predatory all at once.

“The will of the Force can be unexpected indeed, but who are we to fight it, my friends? Especially when it can bring us to such a delightful meeting.”

Through this whole greeting Dooku’s dark eyes had never once strayed from Lukka.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big thanks to Princessleia9977, my lovely beta.

_“He’s a political idealist, not a murderer.”_

_Jedi Master Ki-Adi-Mundi about Count Dooku_

_(-Attack of the Clones)_

 

Christopher Dooku observed the two Jedi before him with great interest.

The older one, unknown to him, had the posture and manners of someone used to spending his time in libraries rather than in battles of any kind. Even now, surprised and discomfited, he stood calmly and made no move to reach for his lightsaber, a distinct opposite to his younger companion.

Said companion was a study in contradiction. Very young, barely more than a boy, really, short and apparently ill at ease in the well-cut Padawan robes he wore, unarmed. Only two things about him were of interest: the mechanical right hand (there was but one way a Jedi would lose his sword arm) and his powerful resonance in the Force. Oh, the boy was shielding now, but he had felt the earlier spike of alarmed readiness (quite good instincts) and he could still remember the strength and intensity of emotion in the call he had perceived but a fortnight ago.

He wasn’t often intrigued but, on this occasion, he was interested enough to leave his current _, important_ task, possibly offending his negotiation partners. He had braved the tedious voyage halfway across the galaxy and the unexpected difficulty of tracking the Jedi down. All to find the call’s source.

And now here he was, in the flesh. Dooku found himself rather unimpressed.

“I must confess myself somewhat surprised, Count Dooku,” the older Jedi began, either not noticing or ignoring the tension in the air. “Honisd is a long way from Serenno.”

“So it is,” he agreed easily, “but then again, all distance is relative, depending greatly on what one finds at the end of the journey and the company one- encounters.”

 

***

 

Luke didn’t know what exactly was going on, but he didn’t like it. Not one bit.

The stranger didn’t exactly act hostile, and Master Nesh’d seemed more surprised than alarmed at seeing him. Then again, Master Nesh’d sense of danger obviously wasn’t the best in the galaxy, so that wasn’t saying much. And Luke didn’t like him. He didn’t like the smooth, deep voice, nor the dark rich clothes and the long, sweeping cape, nor the confident way he stood and spoke, the assessing way his eyes had swept over Luke. He especially didn’t like the subtle way this- Dooku’s Force signature was obscured; not completely concealed, like his own, but muddled, contained. He was hiding something and was skilled enough to not be obvious about it, unlike Luke.

“Well, we wouldn’t want to keep you from your travels,” he cut into the conversation, “you must want to get on your way as soon as possible.”

“Quite on the contrary, my young friend,” and oh, there were layers in that voice, things hidden and only hinted at, but one thing was certain: this Count didn’t like Luke any more than he liked him.

Good.

“I can’t imagine Honisd to be your final destination, charming at it is,” and now Master Nesh’d had evidently picked up on Luke’s- distrust, and was subtly edging closer, “I was under the impression that you have chosen to dabble in politics when you are not appreciating the finer things in life, both of which are sadly lacking here.”

“Yes, your understanding of me is fairly accurate, Master- Do forgive me, but it seems you have me at a disadvantage.”

Yeah, sure.

“I very much doubt that, Count,” Master Nesh’d smiled, obviously still unsure but willing to go along with this show of courtesy. Luke fought down his impatience, “but please forgive me my poor manners. I am Master Ahimga Nesh’d and my companion is called Lukka Ekkreth.”

“Count Dooku, as you obviously know.”

They exchanged small bows that Luke observed somewhat cynically; Han always said to never bow, ‘cause then you have to bare your neck and look away, and by the time you straighten up the other guy may be holding a blaster.’

Used to. Han used to say that.

“I must admit that finding two Jedi here, of all places, was somewhat unexpected. I did not notice your identification code upon my landing, you must have been here for quite a while.”

“How did you find us, then?” and yeah, deliberately dropping the title (but seriously, a Count?) probably wouldn’t endear him to the older man, but oh well. Maybe if he irritated him enough he would just _leave_. And Luke wasn’t about to admit to having switched ships.

“The will of the Force is an ally for these with enough knowledge and experience to follow it, young Padawan,” that deep voice sharped just slightly, but the count’s Force presence remained calm and passive. Stars, he was good. “And your Master has no reason to hide his radiance in the Force.”

_What are you hiding?_ rang loud and clear for everyone present.

“He is not my Master,” he said shortly and then added, because mentioning death usually made people uncomfortable and prompted a swift subject change: “My Master is dead.”

“Did you kill them?”

“Did I- Of course not!”

What sort of question was that?!

“Do you wish you had?”

That brought him up short and for a crucial, very telling moment, he was silent, because-

“N-no… Of course not. Why-“

(-because he didn’t want to kill Ben or Yoda, never, no more than he wanted to learn to speak like a chicken, both were equally unimaginable-)

“Really, Count Dooku, what is the purpose of these _highly improper_ questions?” Master’s Nesh’d voice seemed far away, Luke’s attention snared by the count’s piercing gaze.

(-but a part of him wanted to go back to the swamp and ask, _demand_ explanations, rage against the deceits and the sheer, perfidious manipulations, because _how could they_ lie to him like this, lie and obscure and send him out to _kill his own father-_ )

He took an involuntary step back. The count’s eyes gleamed and his smile widened, suddenly showing a lot of teeth.

“It is a perfectly reasonable inquiry when a young Padawan appears out of nowhere, missing his dominant hand, his lightsaber, _and_ his teacher. One may begin to wonder if there is any correlation there, do you not agree, Master Nesh’d?”

“That’s for the Council to examine, count Dooku,” and Luke was mildly worried that there wasn’t any denial in Master’s Nesh’d reply, but he had bigger problems right now. They _had to_ leave. “If you wanted to have a say, then perhaps you shouldn’t have left the Jedi Order.”

That was frankly confrontational from Master Nesh’d, and what did he mean, leave the Order? Was that even possible? Why would anyone-

Not important right now.

“And we’ll never know what they’ll say if we don’t get going.”

“In such a hurry to be subjected to the Council’s judgment, are you?” There was a decidedly sarcastic undertone to the count’s reply, “I am afraid that you won’t like their questions any more than you do mine.”

“Well, if that is the will of the Force…” he trailed off, mockingly inclining his head, because kriff if it wasn’t a convenient little excuse.

“Then please, let me offer you my assistance. I am sure that my ship has a quicker hyperdrive and better amenities than anything the Order has seen fit to lend you. Let us make the remaining journey as fast and pleasant as possible.”

An instant, foreboding shudder travelled down his spine at the offer, at the dark, hungry look in the other’s eyes. No. There was no way in hell they were going to go anywhere with him, let alone in the man’s ship, where they’d be completely in his power. Just- no.

“Oh, we couldn’t possibly dream of-“

“No.”

His voice cut through Master’s Nesh’d polite excuses, which probably wasn’t very wise, but damn it all, it had gone on long enough! He was tired of whatever game the Count was playing and itching to go, to leave-

_They shouldn’t be here!_

“No?”

Stars, Dooku had no business sounding so amused!

“No,” he repeated, dropping any remaining hint of pleasantness out of his voice and adjusting his position. The Force was fairly screaming at him now to _get away_ and he had no patience for pretences. He would fight his way out if he had to, lack of lightsaber be damned- “No. We are leaving now. Alone.”

The Count’s smile was that of a mincat finally done playing with its prey.

 

***

 

Master Nesh’d looked at the young man at his side in astonishment, startled by the undisguised hostility in his voice, by his suddenly aggressive stance. The conversation was perplexing, yes, and he didn’t like the undertones of the count’s comments, but this… The Force was swirling round him now, warning him about danger, but its source remained maddening elusive, leaving him with only a premonition that an attack would come at any moment, it was almost here, _almost-_

“Perhaps I will be able to change your mind, my young friend,” Count Dooku replied calmly enough, his posture still open and inviting, his right hand slowly going to his belt. “If you would-

He didn’t finish.

The attack, when it finally came, was swift and brutal, a powerful Force-push sending the count flying, crashing into the market stands behind him.

What in the stars-

The air around them suddenly filled with screams, the bazaar patrons’ confused, panicked cries. They ran, attempting to flee away from danger, away from- from Lukka, whose hand was still extended, apparently ready to repeat this- this-

“What are you doing, Lukka?! Stop this madness!”

The young man didn’t even look at him.

“Lukka!”

“We must go,” he finally replied, slowly backing away from the pile of debris.

“Have you completely lost your mind? We cannot just leave, we must help-“

He moved closer to the unfortunate Count, hoping he hadn’t been injured. Count Dooku was strong enough to normally deal with such a push without any problem, but the attack had been so sudden- and there was no movement among the rubbish, perhaps- the Force was buzzing with recent violence, the Dark Side clouding everything.

“We must help him.”

“ _No,_ we need to _leave_ , before-“

The pile of wreckage exploded, or so it seemed, bits of lightsteel, stone and plastic flying everywhere like a supernova, originating from the Count, back on his feet and moving, jumping towards Lukka, his lightsaber rising-

His red lightsaber.

Nesh’d didn’t think, didn’t have time to. He was already moving, the Force guiding his steps, his own blade ignited, raised to intercept, barely managing to land between the two. His arms trembled with the strength behind the blow. The Count smiled and countered, then feinted right and came from left, low, then pressed his advantage when Nesh’d retreated. His movements were fluid and elegant, every inch the famed swordsman. Attack after precise attack, feints and sudden provocations, his left side left open for just a moment, the trap closing the second Nesh’d overextended himself, the red blade coming at his torso- he couldn’t avoid that, he was too open, _too slow_ -

A piece of stonework crashed into the Count’s elbow, sending him off track, making his lethal blow go wide.

They both looked to the side, where Lukka stood alone among the abandoned market stalls, the Force around him a swirling, turbulent mess, heady and vicious. He was levitating the pieces of heavy rubbish around himself, so _many_ of them, faster and faster, gaining momentum, the Force swelling with impending bloodshed, with-

With the sheer power under Lukka’s command.

Then the invisible string snapped, sending the projectiles at the Count, all of them, surely too many to evade-

The Count jumped out of the way, his somersault bringing him close to Lukka, within a sticking distance- And Lukka was still unarmed-

Nesh’d moved faster than a thought, _throwing_ his lightsaber at the Count’s back just as Lukka used another piece of steel to shield himself, but it was futile, a moment’s diversion at best, nothing could stop a lightsaber- The Force roared and Nesh’d lightsaber was brutally swept aside, not finding its mark, but at least now Lukka had the precious few seconds to move, to _get away from the fight-_

Instead he jumped high, landing on a window ledge and sending more projectiles the Count’s way.

Nesh’d would have cursed if he had the time, but there was only calm and the Force. It was leading his steps, bringing his lightsaber back into his hands, his feet moving closer, almost at the Count’s side, his blade ready to thrust-

Instead, there was a piercing cry within the Force and his knees suddenly became weak, his hold on the lightsaber slipping- there was someone screaming- the Force was writhing with their pain, their anger- He was kneeling on something wet, something dark, why couldn’t he get up-

He finally registered pain in his stomach and looked down, to see a sharp piece of durasteel pipe protruding from below his ribs.

Oh.

He was- he was laying on his side, the ground cold under him, slippery with- with his own blood. His eyes were closing, were closed- He could feel, through the tumult around him, the calming winds of his favourite garden at the Temple and hear the faint notes of music, harmonious and beckoning-

Then he became one with the Force and knew no more pain.

 

***

 

“Murderer!” Luke spat in a voice he didn’t recognise as his own.

“Oh no, my friend,” replied the grinning sithspawn, “It wasn’t I who killed him. It was you.”

“You-!”

“ _You_ started this fight, _you_ dealt the first blow,” Dooku was slowly coming closer, his steps unhurried, confident. “He drew his sword to defend _you_ from a just retribution. His blood is on your hands.”

“You came after us, you tracked us-“

“I tracked _you._ How could I not, after your intriguing call through the Force? Come now,” and oh, now Dooku’s tone turned warm, almost amiable, with a knowing smile on that hateful old face. “You called into Darkness, you must have known that someone would answer.”

Luke couldn’t listen any longer, he wouldn’t stand another syllable, another breath wasted by this _monster-_

With a cry and a push through the Force he was jumping, almost flying at the count’s side, Master’s Nesh’d lightsaber called to his hand, the handle still warm from the other’s touch. He was swift and he was powerful, the Force ringing with his _need_ to end this-

His strike had enough strength to rend any man in two. If it would have landed.

Only Dooku wasn’t there, he was at his _back_ , his Force-push sent Luke stumbling, his next attack too quick to see, almost too quick to counter but for the Force, his next one quicker still- Luke evaded, the burning red sabre missing him by millimetres, his mechanical hand feeling alien and unwieldy. He tried to attack again, but his sweeping strikes were evaded easily, countered- The Force was agitated, an oppressive buzzing in his head-

Dooku disengaged and jumped back a little way, all grace and deadly competence, a small smile on his face- He was _enjoying himself!_

“Your Master, whoever they were, didn’t train you well enough,” he started again, idly swinging his lightsaber around himself in (an unnecessary) display of skills. “You say you didn’t kill them… Hm, perhaps not. Not with such a pathetic swordsmanship.”

Luke didn’t reply, couldn’t, he was breathing too fast, his heart beating a frantic rhythm in his ears. He was severely outmatched but there was no place for fear in him, he was too angry, too focused on maintaining some shreds of composure, on breaking Dooku’s guard and _cutting him down_ -

“And here I believed, if only for a moment, that you could have some potential,” kriff, Dooku apparently loved to hear himself talk, the conceived-

“And why-“ he finally ground out between clenched teeth, ”why would you think that, Dooku? You’ve met me all of ten minutes ago.”

“Let us drop these tedious pretences, my young friend,” Dooku replied, the shrewd notes back in his voice. “What does time matter? Darkness always recognises its own.”

What-

“ _I_ am not a Sith!”

Dooku was coming closer, circling from Luke’s right, the red lightsaber twirling and slashing in his hands. Luke tried to concentrate, to calm down and let go of his anger, but it was impossible, he could as well try to let go of his liver-

“Sith, Jedi, such unnecessary distinctions, so limiting. You are touched by Darkness, _of it,_ there is no hiding it,” Dooku’s taunting voice was the only clear thing on the whole plaza, all else was swallowed by the deep roll of the Force, by Luke’s loud breathing.

Master Nesh’d was silent. Would forever remain so.

He tried again, attacking low, swiping at Dooku’s knees and following with a swift kick when he jumped out of the way, _finally_ sending him back a few steps. He recovered lightening quick and came back, his lightsaber aiming at Luke’s arm instead of his unprotected head-

He wasn’t trying to kill Luke. He was just _toying_ with him!

“Why won’t you _die_ already!” he snarled over their crossed blades.

Dooku _laughed._

Laughed and swirled to the right, but his lightsaber was suddenly in his _left_ hand, coming at Luke’s side- Only another Force-accelerated jump saved him, bought him mere seconds- He was tired and severely outclassed, but he couldn’t lose, he wouldn’t-

Dooku watched him with an enigmatic look in his cunning eyes.

“Such words from a Padawan! No. You, my young friend, are not a Jedi. Your destiny lies with the Dark Side, it has claimed you already.”

( _Your destiny lies with me, Skywalker.)_

“You’re a liar,” he replied to his adversaries, both of them.

“It takes one to know one, is that not how the saying goes? Tell me, why do you lie to yourself when everyone with a shred of Force sensitivity can perceive the truth? You are fairly simmering with Darkness, it’s in your very core, influencing your every action.”

(- _forever will it dominate your destiny.)_

No, that wasn’t true, it wasn’t the proper truth, he wasn’t-

Dooku smiled, slow and satisfied, and continued:

“Even your luckless companion must have known this, must have sensed this. And he died because of you, poor, deceived Master-“ a small pause, a cunning smile. “Master- What was his name, again?”

No- That’s just- To murder Master Nesh’d and then to- to _insult_ him like _-_ like he _didn’t matter-_

(snap)

Oh, no.

He breathed in and instead of air he inhaled power, he swallowed it and made it his own, he _was_ power, cold and savage and deadly. He moved in and his enemy tried to cut him down, but they were too slow, he easily evaded their assault, his hands became a blur, a striking venocobra. The Force in him was dancing, a vicious and eager thing of teeth and spikes and _no mercy_. He gave himself over to this feeling, letting it guide him, move his feet, raise his arms _just so-_

Slight pressure on his blade and a thud as a hand, still holding a red lightsaber, fell on the ground. A painted gasp, sweeter than anything he had ever heard-

But he wouldn’t stop, not now when he had that power, when he finally could do what he had so longed to do. He spun, his arms rising, his blade coming down to sever that proud neck-

Pain.

Pain and shock and electric blue light, striking him down, breaking his concentration until he was just himself again. He was on the ground, the sword not in his hand, screaming and s _till,_ the pain kept coming, paralyzing him- He could smell burning flesh, _he_ was burning-

Then blessed darkness swallowed him and he knew no more.

 

***

 

He woke to the rain and cold ground. For a long moment he was confused, registering only the wetness and the aches in his body, and then the memories came flooding back.

He squeezed his eyes shut, grateful to be alive, _surprised_ by it.

He was alive.

He breathed in the chilly air and slowly, other thoughts crept in. He was alive, but so was Dooku. The blue lightning, whatever it was, had saved the Count and allowed him to escape. (Why hadn’t he been killed then, unconscious and defenceless? It made no sense…) Dooku was alive and would in all probability come back one day to get his revenge. But that was fine, he would be ready. He would be waiting. As soon as he could stand, he and Master Nesh’d would get out of this-

He would get out of this place, because he was still alive. Master Nesh’d was not.

He breathed and felt the rain and finally, when he thought he could move without shattering, he stood up and slowly, painfully made his way through the empty market to the lone, broken body. The running water has almost washed away Master Nesh’d blood, leaving him pale and motionless and unlike himself.

Then again, it wasn’t Master Nesh’d, not really. It was just another corpse.

He moved as through a haze, sluggishly collecting Master’s Nesh’d lightsaber (and noticing that there was no hint of the other blade, nor of the severed arm) and then his body, cradling it gingerly, wary of somewhat hurting him- damaging _it_ even more. It was heavy and he was so tired, but he would deal, he would- he would bring it back on the ship and leave as soon as possible, before the Empire- before the authorities could intervene.

He would bring Master’s Nesh’d body to Coruscant. Bring him home.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A big thank you to all of you who have read this story, commented or left kudos or bookmarked. Your enthusiasm is very encouraging. And of course many thanks to my great beta Princessleia9977; any remaining mistakes are my alone.

The next few days passed as if in a thick fog. He was moving almost entirely on autopilot, trusting in old habits and muscle memory to get him through this. Later, he would remember only snatches, vague pictures with no details or emotions attached to them. He knew that he had returned to the ship with Master’s Nesh’d body without being stopped and immediately took off, setting a convoluted course riddled with hyperdrive mini-jumps and changing directions. He knew that he had stopped briefly on a busy commercial planet a good way off any hyperlane leading to Coruscant to change ships (stealing wasn’t something he was proud of, but it never left any paperwork trail to follow). He knew that he had tended to his wounds, that he had eaten and slept because he couldn’t afford not to. He knew all that, but only in a way that he knew the best way to fly through Beggars’ Canyon, instinctively. The moments themselves remained elusive and flat, unable to pierce through the cocoon surrounding him.

(He had seen an insect trapped in a cocoon, once. He had thought that the strange purple shape was some local plant until Leia had found him and explained. Together they had waited and watched ‘til at long last the creature had emerged, ripping its shelter, crawling outside. He had been stunned by the miniature violence of the act. Leia had remarked that all birth was accompanied by pain and destruction of some kind.

Now he wondered if he could just forever remain in his thick shell. He was sick and tired of destroying everything around him.)

 

***

 

Some days later he exited hyperspace and spent a few moments just staring at Coruscant. He had heard so much about it, had longed to see it and believed it to be impossible, and now here it was. A dazzling jewel of a city, surrounded by rings upon rings of smaller lights, crafts and star yachts and not a single star destroyer in sight. He thought that he should feel… triumphant? Somehow validated, maybe motivated to _keep_ that unique planet brimming with life and movement and free from Imperial oppression? Wasn’t that his childhood dream, to just _be_ here, no matter the way, no matter the price? Even if it meant attending an Imperial Academy?

( _Well, if there’s a bright centre of the universe, you’re on a planet that it’s furthest from.)_

Funny. He felt nothing but the distant taste of ashes of a burning homestead.

He drew upon the Force, its melody rich and vibrant here, full of potential. He was sure to shield his presence, awfully aware of a swarm of bright, loud Force signatures upon the planet’s surface, unlike anything he had ever encountered. He had grown used to the Force that was hushed, the background murmur of everyday life and death disturbed but rarely by the few remaining Force users, their actions always sending powerful ripples through the fabric of the galaxy. Since Bespin, since- _coming here,_ he had tried to adjust to its livelier, much more crowded energy. He rather doubted he had succeeded.

He concentrated on landing, skilfully avoiding the naval control and employing a few of Han’s and Chewie’s trade secrets to get planetside unnoticed. He set his course for a landing near the brightest spot on the surface he could feel: the Jedi Temple. Once down, he took a few deep breaths, stashed Master’s Nesh’d lightsaber in his jacket (hidden but accessible) and finally exited the ship, back straight, head held high, ready to meet his destiny.

 

***

 

Apparently, his destiny had other plans.

Five hours later he was standing in a circular chamber at the top of a high tower, not really registering the amazing view. Considering the amount trouble he had just trying to _get there_ , he should be feeling pleased with his achievement, but most of all he was just irritated and hungry.

He had been prepared to wait to be allowed before the Jedi Council (his many debriefings with Alliance High Command had taught him that much), but he hadn’t counted at not being able to even enter the Jedi Temple. It seemed that the general public, the very same beings that Jedi were supposed to protect and serve, was not allowed even close to the Temple, never mind _into_ it. A snide voice at the back of his mind pointed out that this fact was enough to tell anyone everything they needed to know about the reputable Jedi Order.

He had managed to gain entrance, of course, he had some experience in infiltrating places far better guarded than this one. Some old tricks never failed: even in this (supposed) monument of justice and equality there had to be someone to throw out the rubbish, clean and generally do all the necessary little task their masters thought beneath them. These beings were _always_ invisible and their doors and work corridors far less protected than the vaulted halls.

He smiled somewhat bitterly. Yes, some things never changed.

He had taken a while to just wonder the frankly magnificent building, admiring its vast spaces and clean lines. Everything here seemed calmer and lighter than outside, not tainted by hurry, raised voices or everyday worries. A small world unto itself.

He could see the inherent danger in that all too clearly.

Well, he had somewhat disturbed that peace when he had finally revealed himself. At least the female Knight he had surprised (an older Twi’lek with gentle eyes) had heard his request before having him escorted here (by a completely unnecessary guard of two other Jedi). He had been searched and disarmed, but so far no one had hurt him nor tried to interrogate him, not in the last three hours he had spent in the kriffing chamber. It had become very, very boring very quickly.

At least he wouldn’t be waiting any longer, the Force whispered with the mental image of thirteen beings approaching the double doors. He straightened and turned around, trying to keep calm. For better or worse, it would be over soon.

 

***

 

Jedi Master Yarael Poof spied the mysterious young human long before entering the Council Chamber; the sensitive olfactory glands in his hands registered the usual human musk, some sweat, a few lingering odours of travelling through Coruscant. What was remarkable was the fact that he could not feel the mind to go together with the scent; the stranger’s Force presence, his thoughts, emotions, his very being was expertly hidden, locked up tighter than a Mon Calamari oyster.

Most curious.

He calmly took his seat and spent some moments studying this enigma: human male, rather young and not too tall for his species, though well built. He was standing against one of the windows instead of in the middle of the circle, as was customary, and his dark, slim cut clothes and stiff posture distanced him even further from the traditional Jedi attitude.

It would seem, Yarael mused with a quick glance at the other unusual guest among them that day, that his very presence was enough to disturb millennium old customs.

Grand Master Yoda spoke once they were all seated, his long ears pointing forward in his curiosity.

“Requested to speak to us, you have, yet observe the good customs, you do not,” there was a mild rebuke in his gravelly voice. “Into the middle of the circle, we invite you.”

The young human looked at him for a long moment before coming forward with obvious reluctance. He stood among them with straight back and impatient hands, balanced on slightly bent legs, looking readier for a duel than a calm conversation. Yarael withheld a sigh, feeling that it was a long, challenging task ahead of them. The uneasy feeling that had persisted through the draining and unusually strained meeting beforehand (a negotiation session, in truth) nagged at him again, tugging at his attention, urging him to _see._

He sighed aloud this time, feeling weary and blind among the oppressive Darkness.

 

***

 

“You have introduced yourself to Master Jid-Sufni as Lukka Ekkreth. Is that right?” Master Windu asked quietly.

“Yes, Masters.”

He kept his voice controlled with some effort, Master’s Yoda eyes still on him, intelligent and piercing. He looked away, along the circle of unfamiliar, serene faces. His attention was abruptly caught by an older man who obviously didn’t belong there.

He froze, arrested by a current, a shout in the Force, staring into curious blue eyes. This man was important, his life and choices were s _ignificant_ , denting the very fabric of the Force; in a room full of Jedi Masters whose presence glowed like miniature suns, this man was the one touched by Destiny.

“As you can see,” he heard one of the Masters, distant and unimportant, “the Supreme Chancellor Palpatine was invited to witness today’s proceedings, in hopes of aiding us in unravelling the troubling situation that we have found ourselves ensnared in.”

Supreme Chancellor Palpatine.

The Force quivered, thick and scalding, rushing through his veins, into his rapidly beating heart. This man- Did he know that name, had he heard it before? He felt that he had, he must have, but- He couldn’t grasp it, the knowledge hovering, slipping through his fingers.

Was that the simple fact that the Chancellor was the nominal leader of the Republic? No, that wasn’t it. He had had no such premonitions upon meeting Mon Mothma and the rest of the Alliance High Command; from among them only Leia had been singled out by the Force, her subsequent choices essential to the future of the galaxy, he could feel that even then. Then why-?

 _Not yet,_ the Force whispered sweetly. _The time has not come for you to know._

It was no use. He couldn’t grasp it, was left with nothing but empty hands and the certainty that Chancellor Palpatine was _crucial._ But that was fine. He didn’t like it, but he would deal, he would remember. Remember and wait, observe and prepare, and when the time would finally come, he would be _ready._

“What-“, he checked himself and broke that gaze, remembering his objective, “-what troubling situation?”

“Why don’t you tell us what happened to Master Ahimga Nesh’d, to start with?”

He looked at the tall Cerean for a long moment before he could force a reasonably calm reply.

“He’s dead.”

They hardly stirred, just kept _looking_ at him.

“Yes, we have found his body on your ship, just as you described to Master Jid-Sufni. How did he die?”

He clenched his jaw at the accusation in that question.

“He was murdered by Count Dooku.”

 _Now_ there was a faint quiver among them.

“That is a very serious accusation,” cautioned a dark skinned human, Master Windu if he remembered Master’s Nesh’d rambling descriptions correctly. “Are you positive that you wish to level it?”

“That is the truth.”

They looked among themselves and didn’t speak for a long moment, the tension in the air palpable. He forced himself to breathe deeply and to remain silent, to not walk into a trap of trying to justify himself, calm and concise as he would be before the High Command. Just another after mission debriefing, nothing he hadn’t done hundreds of times…

“It is interesting,” a small Lannik finally broke the thick silence. “Doubly so in the light of Count Dooku’s formal accusation about your attack, as well as the arrest warrant issued by the Honisd government.”

“ _He_ filed an _accusation?_ ”

That kriffing-

“He did,” Chancellor Palpatine spoke for the first time, the rich, commanding voice rounded by the Coruscanti accent; he was suddenly terribly conscious of his own Outer Rim drawl. “Usually such charges would be dealt with by the Jedi Order itself. However, as Count Dooku is no longer part of it, and your own status is somewhat- questionable, the complaint went through Senate to me. I am here to hopefully resolve the matter without the grim unpleasantness of a formal trial.”

A _trial!_

“And what exactly am I accused of?” he tried not to snarl too much, but stars! A trial, because of that-

“Count Dooku claims that you have attacked him without provocation and severely injured him,” Master Windu spoke, his dark eyes intent. “The eyewitness reports validate that.”

“Does he speak the truth?” the Cerean (Master Ki-Adi-Mundi?) continued. “Did you attack him?”

He closed his eyes for a moment, finally seeing how it would go. Of course, what better way to render him harmless than to accuse him? At worst, he would be charged and found guilty, at best he would walk away free but stained by the accusation, friendless and distrusted, with no allies or resources to find Dooku and-

He would deal. He always did, and if Dooku thought that he _needed_ the Jedi Order to find and _finish_ him, all the better. He wouldn’t be expecting an attack, would feel safe and hopefully make mistakes, ones that he would be buried under.

He opened his eyes and calmly looked at the blank faces around him.

“Yes, Masters. I did attack him.”

He watched them straighten, the Force ringing with their surprise; they expected him to deny it, to act like a coward-

“Why?” the Chancellor asked intently. “Why would you do that?”

And how ironic was it, that in a chamber full of Jedi Masters it was a politician that asked such a question?

“Because he was about to attack us and I don’t believe in giving my enemies any free shots.”

And it was a lesson hard learned; he didn’t like it, hadn’t listened to it at first and it had cost Jobbbers and Kim their lives, and Goll’ug could never walk again… No, the Masters could look at him with disbelief and suspicion, wary of how uncivilised he was, but he would not apologise. Not for this.

“Your enemy? Count Dooku is hardly-“

“Count Dooku is a Sith.”

Stunned silence filled the room, the Force all but screaming their incredulity, their _offence_ at the accusation. And then-

“A Sith!”

“You really should-“

“The Sith have been gone for hundreds of years, young man,” the severe looking Iktotchi cautioned him. “They have long become extinct.” 

 _Lie,_ the Force whispered. As if he needed any assurance in _that_ subject.

“Are you lying to me or to yourself, Master?” he countered. “There are Sith in the galaxy, and Count Dooku is one of them.”

“Know that you do, hm? How?”

It seemed that the low voice of Master Yoda would always command respect and silence in equal measure.

“He reeks of the Dark Side-“

“So do you.”

What- No. No, that’s-

“Touched the Dark Side of the Force, you have, and feel its taint on you, we all can. Careful you should be, before you call another a Sith.”

He swallowed with difficulty, feeling their judging eyes on him, their minds, old and calm and already sure of his guilty-

Truth, he needed to tell the truth, to stick to what he absolutely knew to be true-

“I am not a Sith.”

At least he managed not to shout it this time.

“Yet you are not a Jedi either,” the human Master stated.

“Not yet, no. I haven’t finished my training,” he agreed, swallowing his bitterness. It wouldn’t help him now. “That doesn’t change the fact that Dooku is a Sith.”

“Count Dooku was a Jedi Master,” the female Zabrak answered, but he could feel her uncertainty.

“He left the Order and become a Sith.”

“He left the Order because of his political ideas, his highly idealistic ideas, not-“

“He uses the Dark Side!” kriff, it was like talking to a deaf droid! “He has a red lightsaber, he _murdered_ Master Nesh’d-“

“During a mysterious confrontation instigated by you.”

“The Force was all but screaming about his intention to-“

“Master Nesh’d’s body bears no marks from a lightsaber.”

He almost choked on his next breath, the blood suddenly vivid behind his eyelids, copper in his mouth. That they would discuss it like this, in that clean white chamber, factual and dispassionate in face of Master Nesh’d’s _murder-_

Deep breaths. Control. Truth.

He could do it. He _had to_ do it.

“He wasn’t cut down,” he managed to choke out. “Dooku used a sharp piece of pipe to- to stab Master Nesh’d in- through his stomach.”

His clenched fists ached, his jaw ached, his shoulders were tight with tension. He wanted to turn away from their piercing eyes, to hide his pain and his guilty, _his failure,_ but it was no use, they were behind him as well, that damn circle closed like a trap-

Deep breaths.

“And yet you survived,” Master Windu spoke slowly. “You would wish us to believe that while an experienced Jedi Master fell, you, freshly injured and incompletely trained, had somehow managed to survive a confrontation with one of the best living swordsmen, and one aided by the Dark Side of the Force as well.”

There was no need to continue. _Liar_ rang all too loud to everyone present.

He ground his teeth against the bitter resentment rising in him like a Tatooine sandstorm, harsh and deadly and looking for victims. Oh, he would not go down that easy, he would fight and maim and take as many down with him as possible-

“If you wish to accuse me of something, you may at least have the courage to look me in the eyes and s _ay it_.”

He surprised them, he could feel the uneasy weariness in them. Good; they should be wary of him, if they chose to attack him with insinuations and these meaningful, kriffing silences- How does one fight against subtle glances and things unspoken?

“You must agree, young man,” Master Ki-Adi-Mundi spoke from his left, “that your story sounds very unlikely.”

“Unlikely,” he scoffed. “If you don’t believe me, then at least listen to the Force. My words are true, even you must be able to sense it.”

Yeah, it probably was a very bad idea to insult the beings about to decide his fate (Leia would be horrified, but then again, she would be just as appalled at this joke of a- a hearing, a trial?). He was past giving a damn.

“There is truth in your story, feel it we can,” Master Yoda pondered. “Yet not the whole truth.”

“Drop your shields and let us see into you,” a female Tholothian practically _ordered_. “Let us know the full truth once and for all.”

Like kriffing hell, he would!

“I won’t do it and you have no right to demand it of me in the first place!”

Apparently, they weren’t used to people shouting at them. He really couldn’t imagine why.

“No?” Master Windu asked softly.

“The Jedi Council has the right and the duty to uphold peace and order in the galaxy-“

“Through any means necessary?” he finished for Master Ki-Adi-Mundi, using one of the tactics Leia had taught him. “Even if that means breaking their most basic civil rights, such as the right to privacy? A right to a fair trial, with clear rules and a defensive lawyer present-“

“We are _guarding_ these laws-“

“It sure doesn’t look like that from where I am standing!”

“Peace”, a Master in a strange breathing mask broke in, his hands risen in a calming gesture. “Let us have peace. This is not the way to the truth, of that I am certain.”

There was a moment of silence and general change of postures, the Force slowly settling down from agitated waves into calmer currents. He took a few second to close his eyes and re-centre himself, reminding himself why he was there.

He spoke again, slower and steadier, but without much faith.

“Master Nesh’d and I were approached by Dooku on Honisd. He spoke to us for a few moments and tried to convince us to continue our travels on his ship,” no one interrupted him this time. He drew upon the Force for strength and patience.

“The Force was uneasy, warning me about the danger, so I refused to go anywhere with Dooku. He said something along the lines of convincing me and moved his hand towards his lightsaber. I didn’t give him a chance to draw it. I used the Force to push him into the market stands behind him and tried to convince Master Nesh’d to leave. He- he insisted on staying and helping Dooku, but then- Dooku attacked,” he had to swallow, remembering anew the deadly precision of that red blade, the cold viciousness of the Dark Side.

“He came at me with a red lightsaber and Master Nesh’d defended me. They fought, but Dooku was clearly a better swordsman. I couldn’t join them, I- I have recently lost my- my lightsaber.”

Don’t think about it, not now-

“I tried to help by sending pieces of stone and steel at Dooku, trying to distract him, but-“ he shook his head. “Dooku used the Force to grab one of the pipes and- He killed Master Nesh’d.”

He bowed his head for a moment, silenced again by the choking grief. Still, no one said anything, so he continued, once he had himself under control.

“I took up Master Nesh’d lightsaber and tried to bring Dooku down, but he was too skilled, too experienced,” and oh, how these words burned him. “He knew it too. He could have killed me a few times, but he chose to prolong the fight, to- to toy with me. He underestimated me, grew reckless while I grew desperate-“ told like that, it rang of truth without mentioning the rampant anger, the dazzling thirst for Dooku’s blood and suffering in him at that moment, the way he would have gladly died if he could just take the bastard down with him-

“I wasn’t as skilled, but I am younger and I was fighting for my life- I tapped deep within the Force and somehow managed to disarm him, to cut off his hand. I was going in for the killing blow when he- I don’t know _what_ he had done, I’ve never seen anything like this. He attacked me with some sort of energy, looking like blue lightning- it burned-“

He clenched his trembling hands and just breathed for a moment, trying not to remember the overwhelming pain, the helplessness and incomprehension, the smell of burning flesh, _his_ burning flesh-

He swallowed down nausea and continued.

“I blacked out. When I awoke I was alone with Master- with Master Nesh’d’s body. Dooku had left and he’d taken his sword and- and his hand with him. I collected the- the corpse and returned to the ship, and then came here. I don’t know why Dooku didn’t kill me,” he added bleakly, finally looking along the circle.

The Masters… Some were looking at him intently, others were avoiding his eyes, looking among themselves or into the distance, listening to the Force. The setting sun painted everything rusted red, the colour of dried blood.

“I am certainly glad he did not, young man”, Chancellor Palpatine shattered the sombre silence.

 

***

 

Jedi Master Saesee Tiin looked at the Chancellor sharply, not at all liking his apparent readiness to accept Ekkreth’s story. The youth hadn’t lied, that rang clearly through the Force (and the Sith ability to produce the Force lightning wasn’t commonly known), but Saesee could detect the shape of things left unmentioned, ghosted over. And the things Ekkreth _had_ said were difficult enough to acknowledge. That one of their own would not only leave the Order, but also _fall_ to the Dark Side of the Force and kill one of his former brothers…

And they hadn’t noticed it. Even with Count Dooku’s political high profile and numerous public appearances, some of them on Coruscant among his many influential friends, and they _hadn’t noticed anything._ Was it possible? Could they have truly become so blinded by the Dark Side?

It was a grim thought to ponder.

He looked back at the human male, trying to let go of his irrational distaste; blaming him for the news he came bearing was a behaviour unworthy of a Jedi Master. Worse, it would further cloud his judgment and led to mistakes where they could afford none.

Ekkreth stood silent among them, slowly looking from face to face, probably awaiting their reaction, their decision. It was challenging to see in him the hurt, disoriented youth Master Nesh’d’s early reports spoke of. He was out of place, obviously so, his almost military bearing and lack of proper respect unheard of among the Order, but Seasee wouldn’t call him lost. Studying these clenched fists and straight back, the durasteel tight mental shields, he could see only stubbornness and wilfulness, only threat. Nothing of the apparent vulnerability that must have so blinded Master Nesh’d, that had led him to his death.

Who _was_ this man?

“Even should we accept your words for what had happened,” he spoke slowly, “That still leaves us with somewhat of a dilemma. We have no proof that Count Dooku is a Sith, nothing to validate such a serious accusation, while he has the knowledge and the means to take legal actions against you. The fact of your attack on his person, a member of an Old House of Serenno, is undisputable. Should it come to a trial…”

He trailed off, noticing with resignation the proud lift of the human’s chin. No, there was nothing of a lost child in him, nothing of Jedi humbleness.

“Should it come to a trial, wouldn’t Dooku need to be present for it?” Ekkreth asked, surprising them somewhat.

“He would, at least for some of the proceedings,” replied Master Koon, who was more knowledgeable about such things than most.

“Then let him come.”

Seasee looked along his fellow Masters, disquieted by the quiet intensity in the youth, by his tight smile. The Force rumbled around them, chilly and slow like a stalking ventrocat. No, whatever happened, they had to prevent another confrontation between the two, that was abruptly clear to all of them.

“So eager are you, to meet the Count again? So sure of your victory?” Master Yoda shook his head slowly, with obvious disapproval. “Blinded you are by your thirst for vengeance.”

“Revenge is not the Jedi way,” warned Master Windu.

“It’s not revenge,” Ekkreth denied and then grimaced when the Force rang with his lie. “Or not only revenge. Dooku isn’t going to just forget about me and waiting for his move is stupid, it gives him the opportunity to gather his strength and come at me when it suits _him_ most. Taking the fight to him now, when he is injured and unprepared, is the only way I can hope to win.”

“Jedi uses the Force only for knowledge and defence, only when necessary _, never_ to attack,” the old law rolled off his tongue smoothly, almost without a thought, for it was true. What this- this impostor was proposing was a dangerous madness and only further proof that he didn’t belong among them.

 _Then what are they going to do with him?_ That consideration came unbidden and stopped him in his track. Ekkreth was a threat to the Order, his ways unacceptable, but to deny him, to let him loose on the unsuspecting galaxy…

His eyes sought out Master Windu, the most strategically inclined among them, for if anyone would know the answer-

He swallowed with difficulty, finding these dark eyes already fastened on him.

 

***

 

“All of this is pure conjuncture,” Mace Windu spoke to his fellow Masters, looking from Tiin to others, some of whom had not yet realised the obvious difficulty in their situation. “We need to avoid a formal trial and any mention of Sith presence _must_ be contained within these walls.”

“I do believe I can be of some use here,” Chancellor Palpatine spoke up, his voice calm and helpful. “While Count Dooku’s accusation has already reached some ears, it is not too late to redirect the public interest. We have some avenues open to us, there are bureaucratic obstructions that may come up and delay the proceedings… But before we can properly plan our response, we need to clarify young Lukka’s status.”

Mace stopped his scowl before it could truly form, anew unhappy with the Chancellor’s presence in the Council’s chamber. They needed his willing cooperation, but involving an outsider into what should have been strictly Order business… It galled.

Meanwhile, the Chancellor had stood up and was slowly walking towards Ekkreth, who observed him with distrustful eyes.

“You are a complete mystery, my young friend,” the Chancellor stated. “There are no records of anyone bearing your name and matching your description in any of the Republic Archives. While troublesome in some aspects, it does allow us more room to manoeuvre. Establishing your past and unearthing your records gives us time to plan our defence and may provide us with more opportunities. However,” here Palpatine turned towards the Masters, “all of this hassle can be avoided with the Council’s help.”

Mace shared a solemn look with Master Yoda, more than aware of the simplest and possibly the only way to resolve the issue, and not liking it at all. Nor could he like the Chancellor decision to champion Ekkreth, all to visible in his body language, standing alongside him as if a Master with his Padawan. Then again, the politician had a habit of cultivating useful connections among beings from all ways of life; apparently, he had seen something worthwhile in the troublesome youth.

The Force was agitated, swirling amongst them in uneasy torrents, highlighting the moment’s importance but providing no guidance. He sighed, sensing the same resigned acceptance in his fellow Masters. While distasteful, this was the least damaging course of action.

“And what would that help involve, sire?” Ekkreth asked, surprisingly respectful.

“We will accept you into the Order as a Padawan,” Mace answered instead, sending the Chancellor an apologetic nod. “You obviously need further guidance and we will provide it, helping you to become worthy of the mantle of a Jedi Knight.”

“It will also shield you from any legal prosecution,” Master Koon finished the thought. “The laws governing any grievances between the Order and the public have been long established and tend to allow us more freedom than is usual in many other cases.”

“With time and effort, a Jedi you may yet become,” Master Yoda allowed.

“It would be the best outcome for everyone involved,” the Chancellor surmised, laying a careful hand on Ekkreth’s shoulder. “Assuming, of course, that this is what _you_ want.”

 

***

 

Of course that’s what he wanted, had wished for ever since Ben had told him ( _lied_ ) about his father, since he had first felt that overwhelming power and unity that was called the Force. That’s why he had spent countless hours training, hunting down any mentions of Jedi from the charred remains of old tales, trying to differentiate between the truth and Imperial propaganda. That’s why he had abandoned (with no leave) the main Rebel forces after the massacre of Hoth and why he had gone to Dagobah. To learn, to discover his potential, to finally become a Jedi.

Of course he wanted-

(What did he want? Truly?

To be back in one of the Alliance bases, talking with Leia, laughing with Han and Chewie, flying with his mates. To be whole again, without the gaping black hole in his heart and a cold machinery instead of his hand. To be the man he used to be, naïve and often ignorant and happy despite it all.)

It didn’t matter what he wanted.

“Thank you, sire, Masters,” he murmured, inclining his head, hoping to hide the desolation he felt. “I gladly accept. I will not squander this chance, I promise.”

He would manage, with the same obstinacy that had been bred into his bones at the desert, that had saved his life time and again, that had kept him going when there seemed to be no end to the Empire’s wanton destruction. He would keep going, he would learn and prepare until one day he would be strong enough that his desires _would_ matter.

One day.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You should all be grateful to Princessleia9977, my beta, for without her I wouldn't even be able to keep the names of the characters straight.
> 
> And yes, as some of you have guessed, it was the Force messing with poor Luke's memory of names and faces. We can't spoil the surprise for him, can we?
> 
> P.S. There's some glitch with posting and editing and I've just spent over two hours trying to get every comma, apostrophe, etc. right, but it's the middle of the night now, so please forgive me if some strange marks are still there.

The next morning he woke up disoriented, adrenaline still coursing through him from the recent nightmare, the unfamiliar surroundings only adding to his confusion. A small room in neutral colours, empty but for him, a narrow but soft bed, some essential furniture, no windows- His new room, now he remembered.

His new room in the Jedi Temple, where he would live for the foreseeable future. Where he would first be tested on what he already knew and what he needed to learn, where he would be assigned a Master and taught until he would be deemed ready to pass his Trials and, hopefully, become a Jedi Knight. Or he would fail, exposing himself as a dangerous fraud with no redeeming qualities (and he didn't need the Force to know that this was the prevailing opinion among the Council).

Joy.

 

***

 

Jedi Master Anin'na Jid-Sufni was naturally curious about yesterday's events and their unexpected guest, though she hadn't allowed it to disturb her peace or impede her in her duties. Still, she could admit to being somewhat glad of her new assignment as the Council eyes and the new Padawan's guide. There was nothing untoward in satiating her curiosity _while_ fulfilling her duties, after all.

And the new Padawan was curious indeed. Lukka Ekkreth, a human male in his early twenties with a mechanical right hand and muted enthusiasm in his eyes. Their (second) introduction was amiable enough, and his manners, while without the usual Jedi polish, weren't exactly lacking. He seemed good natured and attentive, but also cautious, like a handuwolf shot at too many times, watchful for another trap. And the fact that they were watched in return by (what seemed like) every occupant in the Temple wasn't helping him to relax.

Not that Anin'na could blame her brothers and sisters for their interest. The news of Count Dooku's complaint had circulated for days now, and yesterday's Council's meeting, with the Chancellor in attendance (an unheard-of branch of protocol and tradition!), had only added to the fervent whispers. Nobody but the Masters knew what had really happened, so, of course, everyone had an opinion and wished to share it. The soft murmur of speculation followed them along the corridors, into the Dinner Hall and the various meeting rooms, rustled with the grass in the gardens and hunted their steps into the training halls. And with each half-heard rumour, young Ekkreth's shoulders grew more and more tense, until Anin'na began to truly worry.

She had no reason to, of course. No matter what some of the more brazen Padawans claimed, the young man was not a threat, not to her or anyone else in the Temple. The Masters would not welcome him into the Order's folds otherwise. His solid mental barriers were perturbing, true, but she could sense no malice from him, no danger in the Force. The wild tale of his confrontation with Count Dooku must be some sort of misunderstanding, and the sad death of Master Nesh'd a tragic, but innocent accident. She could not picture the quiet, affable youth at her side as a pitiless murderer, a traitor to the old, gentle Jedi Master.

After all, the handuwolf may bite when cornered, but when approached correctly, with respect and soft voice, it is the most loyal and brave companion.

 

***

 

Jedi Knight Mikka Nuf-Dagbi, certified medic, and a gifted Force healer, looked his newest patient over critically, noticing the obvious (the prosthetic hand, the various scars littering the compact body) and the less obvious (dark circles under the eyes, too pale skin, ribs just visible under the light musculature). He pursued his lips, displeased with the Padawan's evasive answers.

"The med-scan has shown some serious trauma over the last three years, many injuries occurring together over a brief period before a longer break and then another similar incident. Similar only in intensity and the poor care you have received afterwards, of course, since the damage ranges from severe frostbite to concussions and broken bones to electric shock. Anything you'd like to share about the circumstances of these injuries?"

He received only a sunny smile and a careless shrug.

"What can I say? I like living dangerously."

"That is obvious," he replied scathingly. "What I'd like to know is how exactly did you manage to obtain this much trauma in only a few years."

"I don't see what does it matter now."

"It matters, you stubborn boy, because some of these injuries were treated poorly and might present complications in the future. I need to know when and how each of them occurred so I may prescribe the correct treatment. So please stop trying my patience and answer my questions."

He gave the Padawan a long, hard stare until the youth sighed and looked away.

"Ask away."

He nodded, placated for now. So the boy was headstrong but not unable to see reason, at least when one took the time to explain things to him.

"Let's start with the most recent trauma and work backwards. You have been subjected to severe electric current for a prolonged period in the last two weeks."

"Yes."

"How?"

Padawan Ekkreth licked his lips and looked at the far wall.

"I'm not sure I'm allowed to tell you."

"Oh, for-"

He was trying to remain patient and open-minded, but by the Force, how was he supposed to do his duty and help this wilful human without any co-operation from him? The med-scanners told him only so much and the Force wasn't much help either, not with the infuriating shields the boy maintained and had flatly refused to lower.

"If you don't work with me, I cannot help you," he started again, using smaller words.

"I understand that just fine," and here was the temper he had heard rumours of. "But that is connected to the matters that the Council had forbidden me to share with anyone."

He looked at Ekkreth for a long while, but either the boy was a fantastic liar or was telling the truth. The proud lift of that clenched jaw suggested the latter. Mikka pinched the bridge of his nose, unhappy with the limitations placed upon him. But one did not question the will of the High Council.

"Very well," he allowed. "Can you tell me anything about the treatment you've received for that?"

"I just stuck some bacta patches on the more severe burns and slept it off."

He stared into these bright blue eyes incredulously.

"You 'slept off' an electric shock which caused your heart to experience ventricular fibrillation and left you with deep burns over the majority of your body."

"Yes?"

The medical exam only went downhill from there.

 

***

 

Jedi Master An-kanni Kli-Munusd tapped one of her tentacle-like dumdhi against the computer terminal, greatly unamused. The young Padawan offered her a sheepish grin.

"And you are quite certain that no record of your birth exists, not in any of the multiple archives we have access to?"

"Yes, Master," the respectful words did nothing to alleviate her quiet frustration. "I come from a small planet on the Outer Rim, people don't bother keeping many records there. They don't trust them."

"We must start from the scratch, then," she turned her attention to the slowly rotating icons and chose a blank form to fill. "Please give me your date and place of birth."

"I was born on the twentieth day of the fifth cycle twenty-two years ago. I don't know where."

Irritating, but not that uncommon. Next-

"Names of your birth parents?"

"I don't know."

She glanced at him, a reprimand on her tongue- but then she felt a faint tremor in the Force. It was a subtle thing, not coming from the Padawan but from the universe itself, faint and trembling like a stricken crystal. She paused, suddenly unsure.

She decided it was wiser not to press the subject.

"The name of your previous Master?"

 

***

 

Maja stood patiently next to the long buffet table in the main Dinner Hall. It was her turn to help during the midday meal, which meant mainly keeping an eye on the younglings. She had eaten earlier and wasn't hungry, but still, the aromatic dishes before her were tempting. She resolutely looked away, exercising her control, being mindful of her thoughts as her Master always told her to be.

She immediately noticed a young human male standing before the table, busy filling his plate with the strangest selection of food she had ever seen in one place. She stared, bemused. Surely he didn't mean to eat all of that _together_?

He abruptly looked up at her, halting his motions. His eyes were very blue.

"Hello."

"Greetings," she replied automatically and then couldn't stop herself from adding: "Are you really going to eat all of that?"

"Well, yes," the man shrugged with a small smile. "I'm quite hungry."

"But human taste buds aren't evolved enough to handle even half of these dishes! You're going to make yourself ill."

"Really?" he blinked down at his plate.

"Really."

"Great," the man set his plate down and then looked at her intently. She looked back. He felt strange in the Force, almost absent, but he seemed kind. And he had such a nice smile. She hastily looked away, feeling her lekku change colour to warmer indigo. She hoped he wouldn't notice.

"Well, thank you for the warning," he didn't sound embarrassed, merely friendly. "I'm new here and I don't recognise most of these dishes. That makes selecting my lunch somewhat difficult."

"I had the same problem when my Master and I went to the Colony System last year, I couldn't find anything edible during the state dinners," she shared, wincing at the memory of the more colourful foodstuff. "Some of the dishes were still _moving_!"

"You're joking!" he huffed. "At least I hope you are. Please tell me there's nothing like that here."

"No, you're lucky. The moving hintocrabs are only served once a week."

He looked at her with such an alarmed expression that she burst out into giggles, her blushing lekku twitching towards her neck. He joined her in mere seconds, his laughter even better than his smile.

She got herself under control and tried to arrange her face into a serene visage befitting a Jedi Padawan.

"Why don't you grab a new plate and allow me to help you? I'm sure that together we can find something tasty for your lunch."

 

***

 

Jedi Master Kas'him Katt' smiled at the youth before him, gesturing for him to sit.

"I am one of the senior teachers here," he continued his introduction. "I usually teach the older Padawans the mid-colonisation existential philosophy, but I am certainly capable of assessing your knowledge about a wide range of subjects. Unless you would be more comfortable with a written examination?"

"No, Master Katt'," young Ekkreth replied after a moment. "I don't want to cause you any trouble, and this will probably save us a lot of time."

"Splendid! Let's start then, shall we? Of course," he added with a chuckle, "I must ask for your patience. Since it is supposed to be a detailed appraisal of your knowledge about Jedi philosophy and history, we are forced to start from the very beginning, the most basic of concepts. There's no helping it, I am afraid."

The young man merely inclined his head, a strange half-smile on his lips.

"Well then, why don't we begin with the Jedi Code? The full mantra and its history, if you please?"

 

***

 

Knight Nhd-Nobe Mionn looked at the Padawan before her with surprise.

"Pardon?"

"I don't know much about the Outer Rim colonisation period," the young human repeated. "Or about the following trade agreements."

"These are the defining factors in the Republic expansion in the last half-millennium," she warbled, all sixteen of her eyes blinking in surprise.

"Galactic history has never been my strong suit."

She looked at him, wondering for a moment if he was trying to prank her somehow (human sense of humour could be so strange sometimes). But no, he looked absolutely honest, and though she couldn't feel him in the Force, she didn't think he was lying. The two spots of colour on his cheeks and a clenched jaw made her wonder if maybe he was ill? That could affect humans' memory if she wasn't mistaken.

"Very well," she moved her forelimbs soothingly up and down. "Let us move forward to more recent history, shall we? What can you tell me about the Galggags Accord and subsequent changes in the Senate?"

 

***

 

"That route doesn't make any sense, boy, unless you want to waste two days on completely unnecessary sightseeing," Knight Marcc Midd'ksn pointed out.

"Evading tactics are never unnecessary," the Padawan argued back, his arms pointing out the planned flight path among the slowly circulating stars. "Besides, it allows us to stop in the Umazi System to resupply."

"If you had stayed at the Correllian Track, you could have done that at Carlisto, which is both bigger and better connected than any planet in the Umazi System-"

 

***

 

He remarked to his guide ( _watcher, spy-_ ):

"There are so many children here."

He was somewhat hesitant to say anything. The last three days of his assessment hadn't been easy on him, left him feeling like an ignorant farm boy all over again, humiliated and misplaced. He knew next to nothing about the more esoteric aspects of Jedi doctrine, even less about pre-Empire history, or galactic economy, languages, art, politics, or diplomacy. He wasn't a Jedi, he was just a farmer turned pilot, but even his knowledge of navigation hadn't been enough, not _now._ He knew how to fly and led his squadron, how to survive a dogfight with minimal losses, how to sneak into a fortified system and how to sabotage a shipyard. His mental map of the galaxy was composed of worlds with heavy Imperial presence or open ports, valuable resources hid behind enemy lines, not these clean, civilised charts of public hyperlanes and merchant outposts. He was utterly lost in this new reality.

The Knights and Masters had been careful not to criticise his obvious ignorance, but he could feel them through the Force, their confusion and curiosity, and pity. He despised pity.

"Yes," Master Jid-Sufni agreed, smiling at him easily. "It's true, the Temple is a home for most of our younglings, excluding those who cannot survive in the Coruscant atmosphere. They are usually housed in one of the smaller temples among the Core Words."

"They can't all be orphans," he probed carefully. And they couldn't be, of that he was sure. This was the Republic in time of peace, not his galaxy ravaged by long civil war. Besides, he didn't sense any sadness or longing even in the youngest of the children, no hole that a lack of parents always left.

(And there was always a hole, a feeling of incompleteness, of not truly belonging. He at least had had the luxury of knowing his parents were both dead, that they hadn't just abandoned him in the dusty purgatory of Tatooine, his unknown, free mother and his freed pilot of a father- His Jedi of a father, Anakin Skywalker- His-)

He took a deep breath and refocused on the calm garden around them, on Master Jid-Sufni's serene presence at his side.

"They aren't orphans," he repeated.

"Well, of course not, at least not most of them," she agreed, looking at him with furrowed brow.

"Then why are they _here_?"

"To be taught the ways of the Jedi," she replied slowly, her head canted to one side like a curious nedbird. He blinked at her, distinctly feeling that they were having two different conversations.

 _Careful,_ the Force warned in a small whisper, _be careful how much of yourself you give away._

He looked away and censored the first question that had sprung to his mind, trying to find a way to be less obvious, but subtlety was never his strong suit...

"Some of them seem to be a bit too young for that."

"Oh, have you visited the Temple Crèche? Aren't the babies just lovely?" she smiled at him, calm and friendly and obvious to his growing confusion. She couldn't mean- "Of course the really young children are not developed enough to be taught about the Force, but they can learn about other things, languages and music and basic, common knowledge. It's always best to start early."

But what about their parents? Where were they?

No, he couldn't ask it like that, not if what she hinted at was true- But how could it be- _Why_ would they-

"Don't you think, Master Jid-Sufni," he tried after a few minutes, the Force a cold caress along his skin, his exposed nerve endings, "that it would be easier to wait and begin their education later, once they _can_ be taught to manipulate the Force? It would release a lot of resources, a lot of time and money to be spent elsewhere."

"True enough, Lukka, and some here would agree with you."

"But not you?"

"Not me," she smiled again, probably to reduce the sting. "We must remember that the purpose of removing children from their previous environment is not to create prodigies, not really. We do it to prevent forming any forbidden attachments and if that gives us more time to educate the younglings, to further their minds, well that is just an additional benefit. Even if it does cost us a lot of resources."

She patted his frozen arm in a friendly way. He was surprised he didn't shatter.

Removing children from their _previous environment-_

They were taking children, small _babies,_ away from their _families-_ _Why,_ so they wouldn't become attached to their own _parents?_ What kind of reasoning was that?! How could they possibly _justify_ -

"Are you alright, Lukka?"

He looked at her again, at her wise eyes and serene smile and felt as removed from her as if she was some flesh-eating monster came from a nightmare.

"I'm fine," he assured her, the Force swirling around him gleefully, delighted by his sudden understanding, by his growth. He felt brittle with it. "I'm just fine."

 

***

 

Knight Ben'nin Hollind calmly invited the strange Padawan to sit on the soft floor next to him.

"As you can see," he growled, the basic sounding harsh and unrefined in his long throat, "we are in one of the training halls. The med-canter finally cleared you for some light Force practice, as long as you don't overtax yourself."

"I am _fine_."

"I am not the one you must convince of that, Padawan," he smiled, amused by the human's clear irritation. Ah, to be so young and headstrong again...

"We will start with some telekinesis exercises," he pointed to the array of object laying on the floor around them, ranging from small and light crystals to dense, heavy makrinstones and complex puzzle structures. "Pick one item and try to levitate it to your eyelevel."

The boy looked at him for a moment, almost perplexed, before turning to the task at hand. Almost at once, a big spinster of a lava crystal rose and hovered next to the human's head, held there steadily.

Hollind warbled, somewhat confused. The boy had done as asked with no problems, but even straining with all his senses, he couldn't feel his Force signature. There was _something_ around the crystal itself, but it was tricky and insubstantial like a mist, slipping away from his most careful probes.

"Curious," he allowed, watching the Padawan who watched him in turn, clearly awaiting further instructions. "Well, go on, then. Let's see what else you can levitate."

Ekkreth smiled and closed his eyes, his hands still folded on his lap. Hollind observed as another crystal rose, then another, bigger one, then a natrorock, a sheet of durasteel, a string of ivory figures- One by one, then in groups of two, of five and more, the assorted pieces rose and hovered around the room, on the same level as the first crystal, still held carefully in that strange, insubstantial grip.

Hollind swallowed past his suddenly dry throat. He had expected the boy to proceed one by one, possibly choosing gradually heavier objects, as was the custom, not to try to levitate _all_ of them at once. That he did it, that he _could_ do so with no visible strain-

"Can you manipulate them somewhat?" he asked, not really expecting-

Not expecting the pieces to move, to dance, the crystals and metal and the embalmed wood squares forming into groups, the robotic parts forming separate entity, the puzzle pieces fitting together into complex structures- And still no whisper of Ekkreth's Force signature could be felt, only a distant echo, a faint idea of movement where clear paths and impressions should be visible.

It was more than impressive. The ability to focus on so many elements at once, to manipulate them with such a fine control- Such power, such _potential-_

It was-

Ekkreth opened his eyes and locked eyes with him. Hollind wasn't sure what his own expression was, but the boy's easy smile died instantly, his face smoothing out. The aerial dance stopped abruptly, the pieces frozen around them, the training room cut across with multiple shadows.

Hollind hid a shiver and asked Ekkreth for a few more demonstrations, testing his fine control and stamina. He asked questions and provided some exercises for later, hoping to hone that gentle hold into an unbreakable shield, a fine blade. The boy's gift demanded his very best, to allow it to languish would be a crime and a waste.

He also tried to recapture the earlier friendly, if gruff air between them. Unsuccessfully.

 

***

 

Padawan Millo Stasiek observed the Temple's newest occupant, the numerous rumours lingering in his ears. Ekkreth was only a few years older than him, but he seemed so strange in his black, slim clothing, without a braid or a lightsaber. He didn't even _look_ like a Padawan.

He also didn't look like someone who could kill Master Nesh'd, not if that mechanical hand was any indication of his skills with a lightsaber. Then again, his Master was always telling him to trust the Force, not his eyes, that looks could be deceitful.

But how was he supposed to trust the Force if he couldn't feel _anything_ from Ekkreth? His careful probe met only a blank space where the other's Force signature should be and he shuddered at how _unnatural_ that felt.

"If you don't want to feel like that," an accented voice drawled behind him, making him jump and whirl around, "then you shouldn't probe where you aren't invited. What were you hoping to find?"

Ekkreth stood there, looking down at him with a small smile, Master Jid-Sufni next to him. The hall around them suddenly seemed very big and very empty.

"Well?"

Millo didn't like that smile, didn't like how small it made him feel. The Force was a distant, uneasy murmur, muddled but warning him of something-

In the end, it was Master Jid-Sufni's presence that made him speak his mind, that gave him courage.

"I wanted to check if it is true what everyone is saying about you."

"And what are they saying?"

"That you-"

The sudden spike in the Force shut his mouth before he could finish. _That you somehow killed Master Nesh'd._ He looked away from that these blue eyes, uncertain, unsettled by the dark veil over the warning that had been crystal clear just a moment ago-

"You shouldn't listen to rumours," Master Jid-Sufni cautioned. "People rarely mean what they say."

"And never say what they mean," Ekkreth quietly added, his smile long gone.

Millo nodded without looking up, then moved around them and continued to his lessons, telling himself that he would be late, that's why he had to go- He wasn't running away.

He _wasn't._

 

***

 

Master Jinn Nasdu-ibb measured the Padawan before her slowly, taking note of his mechanical sword arm, the balanced way he stood, the way he kept both her and the only exit in his line of sight. The spacious training hall was empty but for them, the dust participles slowly floating in the sunlight.

"We will start with a mock duel. Nothing serious, I don't expect you to defeat me," she smiled slightly. "I just want to see how you fight, what you know and what we'll need to work on. Choose one of the practical blades and we will get started, if you're ready."

He nodded and walked to the far wall, where practical lightsabers were being kept. He tried a few, in the end settling on a green blade with a strong cant, well-balanced but suited more for sudden, sweeping attacks then precise thrusts. She made a note of that as well, adjusting her own stance accordingly.

She saluted him with her own saber, which he returned after a few heartbeats, then watched him adopt a classical, defensive stance, a bit sloppy around the edges. Interesting.

It was time to see what their newest enigma was made of.

She gathered the Force around herself and leaped forward.

 

***

 

Two weeks after the unexpected arrival of Lukka Ekkreth, the Jedi High Council met again to discuss his fate. The various Knights and Masters came before them to share their observations about the young man, his knowledge, abilities, and character.

Mace Windu listened with a furrowed brow.

"-I don't believe he was raised in any of the smaller temples, Masters, though he wouldn't say anything about his upbringing or his previous Master. He seems to find our way of life somewhat confusing, asking about the strangest things-"

"-the injuries the scans unveiled were all serious, some even life-threatening. I find myself alarmed at the lack of care the patient expressed and his avoidance of-"

"- his lack of knowledge about some of the most basic tenants of Jedi philosophy is truly alarming. He knows the bare minimum, but any of the more complex ideological constructs seems to be totally unknown to him. That does not, of course, mean that he wishes to remain ignorant, indeed he asked me some very insightful questions-"

"-I have never seen such power in a Padawan as young as him, Masters. He still needs to work on his control, that can come and go if he gets distracted, but the potential that he has demonstrated-"

"-he's from the Outer Rim alright. His accent stinks of Hutt controlled space, Masters, not to mention that he is fluent in Huttese himself. He knows a bit of Corellian and some Aldeeranian, a somewhat strange combination, but his knowledge of High Coruscanti is practically non-existent-"

"-Ekkreth must have spent some time as a bounty hunter of some kind, Masters, it's the only explanation that makes even a lick of sense. He's practical and paranoid like a soldier, but without the ingrained discipline-"

"-his knowledge of political procedures is very limited, but he has a keen sense of power plays so often present in the high circles. He wouldn't be able to fill out a tax form, but if given a problem and some basic information he is able to propose some very interesting, novel solutions, even if most of them are unconstitutional. I am unsure if that stems from his lack of knowledge about the legislations or just lack of care, a simple disregard of such considerations-"

"-I would like to spend more time training with him, with your permission, Masters. His stance needs refining and he's still looking for a lightsaber form that would suit his temperament, but he shows definite promise. He's intuitive with a blade, knows how to improvise and is stubborn enough to practice till he gets his moves right. Whoever took his sword arm didn't have an easy task-"

Mace Windu listened and observed and felt a quiet apprehension settle over him.

Finally, the Masters had heard everyone and were left alone, to consider and ponder the consequences of their recent choices. Some of which didn't even deserve to be named as "choices" at all, Mace remembered with a concealed grimace.

Strange, how much easier it was to bow to the will of the Force than to a political necessity.

"Have we made a mistake?" Master Koon broke the heavy silence.

"It hardly matters now," Master Tiin replied. "It is far too late to change our decision. Besides, the outcome of that is impossible to predict."

"As many things are," Master Yoda joined the discussion. "The Dark Side hides everything. The shadows lie thick upon us."

"Thicker still since the boy's appearance," Master Koon pointed out, the Force around him swirling with his uneasiness. "He bears the stain of the Dark Side, training him further is dangerous."

"Not as much as refusing him and letting him run loose across the galaxy," small Master Piell pointed out. "He would be completely uncontrolled then. Who knows what kind of teacher he would find to finish his training?"

"We could use that," Master Ki-Adi-Mundi spoke slowly, with an unusual hesitance. Mace looked at him narrowly, sure he wouldn't like his next words. "It is quite possible that the Sith would find him, either to kill or recruit him. It could be our chance to force them out of hiding."

"Play with the boy's fate, do you wish? Take a chance that is not yours to take?" Master Yoda shook his head. "Dangerous that would be and impossible to control."

"Not to mention unfeasible," Mace added. "We mustn't forget that Ekkreth has the Chancellor's interest and patronage, at least at the present. Turning him away is simply politically inadvisable."

"Stay here, with us, he must. His path undecided is still, learn from his mistakes he might."

A short silence occurred, the Masters adjusting to this new reality, trying to see the paths forward among the ever-present darkness.

"We need to assign him a Master to watch over his education," Master Billab moved to the next step, ever the practical one. "Obviously there are many gaps to be filled. He will need to attend some classes with the younger Padawans, maybe receive some additional instructions to help him catch up."

"Whoever his Master is, it needs to be someone strong enough to manage him, if the potential we have heard about is as monumental as it appears."

"And it needs to be someone discreet and very trusted as well. They will have to be informed of Ekkreth's- unusual circumstances."

"Perhaps Master Konsd'hi or Master Bugg-dasc-"

"I will do it."

Mace kept his face impassive with long practice as the other Masters turned towards him.

"Teach the boy, you wish?" Master Yoda inquired, his ears pointed attentively forward.

"It will require much of your time and attention, my friend," Master Ki-Adi-Mundi pointed out. "That on top of your commitment to the Council?"

"I was under the impression that you do not have much inclination towards teaching," Master Rancisis agreed. "You have seemed contend with mentoring your previous student, but only content, not truly fulfilled."

"Teaching any Padawan is not a task to be undertaken lightly, especially if there is no genuine desire to nurture the child's growth."

"I hear you," Mace inclined his head, for his fellow Masters had indeed spoken the truth. "But there are many reasons for my decision. I am strong and experienced enough to help him with his budding powers, and I can manoeuvre among the politicians and bureaucrats, hopefully smoothly enough to manage any further scandals he causes. Besides, Ekkreth needs someone in the know to watch over him, and I am loath to release the details of Master Nesh'd's death to anyone outside this room."

They absorbed his words in silence, slowly reaching consensus, the Force swirling in a smooth circle, binding them together in their decision, their shared future.

"Then become the boy's Master, you will," Master Yoda voiced their agreement. "Help him and observe him, your task will be. Our aid you always have, should you need it."

Mace bowed low, accepting the responsibility, the uncertain course leading into darkness. He hoped there was light at the end of it. But even if not, he would not falter. He knew his duty.

 

***

 

Lukka stood slumped in a corner, watching as the rising sun painted the chamber pink and gold. Around him the sleeping babies emitted a pleasant, calming sensation, warm and smoothing along his tired muscles.

He hadn't slept that night, couldn't, not with the Force whispering of danger, of possibility of attack, of betrayal, pumping his heart double time, filling him with adrenaline. He was familiar with the sensation. There had been many nights like this one in the Alliance bases, where he had been wired up and unable to sleep, feeling that somewhere out there a danger loomed, one that he couldn't do anything about but be ready for, should it come. Sometimes there had been nothing, the nights passing calmly. Sometimes there had been a cry of alarm and flight and death in the cold space between stars. He had long learned to trust his instincts, even before he had realised that it was the Force tugging him along possible paths.

He was mildly disturbed to encounter that sensation again now, here, in a place and time where he should be safe. Disturbed, but not really surprised.

He had escaped from his bare room, unable to stand the inactivity, the walls closing in on him. His feet had taken him to one of the training halls, empty in the middle of the night, and he had spent hours upon hours training, moving and jumping, anything to get rid of the excess energy. Once he had felt calmer (once the danger had passed, _for now_ ) he had wandered the silent corridors and echoing chambers, thinking, until he had found himself here. In the Jedi Order's crèche.

The babies and young children were all sleeping soundly, radiating calm and muted joy, apparently quite happy with their lot in lives. They were being taken care of by devoted guardians and the future waiting for them was, for all appearances and purpose, bright and important, maybe not easy exactly, but filled with meaning. Many beings would envy them.

He looked around the cheerful dormitory and feel ill, down to his stomach, ill and frightened and so, so confused.

Children should be with their families. If no parents were alive, then grandparents, uncles and aunts, older siblings or cousins took care of them. No child was to be separated from their family, from their clan. The clan was all that stood between the child and a certain death in the merciless desert.

Intellectually, he knew that it was a viewpoint bred among the harsh sands of Tatooine, that other cultures could consider the matter quite differently. But that didn't quiet the nausea rolling in his guts. Besides, Leia had adored her parents, Han was quietly defensive about his, Wagde worried that his deflection from the Empire would have repercussions for them... Other people from other planets had shared his sentiment. Children belonged with their parents.

(A distant part of him wondered what had happened that he had been separated from- from Vader. His father, alive and powerful and cruel, and evidently determined to gain his alliance, if the price on head and the whole Death Squadron dedicated to finding him were any indication. Had Vader not known about him? Or he had been abandoned, like a troublesome puppy? But then why the wild hunt, once his name and parentage were known? Or had he been stolen? Stolen and whisked away like other Force sensitive children to avoid forming an _attachment?_

... Did it even matter?)

He pushed away from the wall, tired of his own circling thoughts, sick of the doubts. He left the crèche, slowly walking back to his room, leaving the sleeping babies behind. Unfortunately, his confused ponderings weren't so easily discarded.

The whole Order seemed to treat this- this practice as a matter of course. To them, it was an obvious and only course of action, a tradition that had been in place longer than living memory, one that worked well. And maybe it did, maybe it was necessary, no matter what his feelings about that were. He was only a farm boy and a pilot, what did he know about rearing future generations of Jedi?

But-

But the Force was sliding along his spine, down into his bones, whispering of broken families, of these left behind, of _lies_ and _thieves._ But he remembered the young slaves on Tatooine, owned from birth, their whole lives dedicated to fulfilling their masters' wishes. But the Alliance had not accepted any being below the age of maturity, whatever that may be for any given space; an arbitrary choice, Leia had explained, but they had to draw the line _somewhere_ and there would be no child soldiers fighting for freedom and justice, or the whole war would become a tragic farce. But he had heard rumours of special commandos and agents of the Emperor, brainwashed from birth to be fanatically loyal and always obedient-

But he couldn't accept that stealing children away was _right_.

"Lukka, there you are!"

He looked up sharply. He was on the corridor leading to his room and there, in front of his door, stood Master Jid-Sufni.

"I have been looking for you. Why weren't you in your room? Is anything the matter?"

"No," he hastened to reassure her, bringing his attention to here and now. "I just couldn't sleep and went for a walk."

"Master Windu wishes to see you," she briefly touched his arm, gently turning him around. "Please, come with me."

 

***

 

He looked around his new room, almost identical to the previous one but for its location: several floors up, right next to his new Master's quarters. He could feel these dark eyes on his back.

"If there is anything you need, just let one of the quartermasters know," Mace Windu continued. "Do you have any personal effects with you?"

He shook his head, turning to face the other.

"Nothing but some clothes, Master Windu."

"Hardly appropriate for a Jedi Padawan," a sweep over his simple dark suit, a quick glance at the sun steadily rising outside. "I do not believe it is too early to do something about it. Follow me."

Barely half an hour later he was looking at himself in the tall mirror, taking in his new Jedi robes. The tan undertunic and pants, knee-high boots, a flowing brown cloak. The material looked simple, almost rough, but was surprisingly soft to the touch. It looked strange on him, ill-fitting despite being the right size. It had been years since he had worn such light colours, something not stolen from an Imperial transport or handed down from other (dead) pilots. It left him feeling like a child playing a charade.

"Better," Master Windu spoke from his right.

"Isn't it?" Knight Gibborn agreed, his small, daft hands steadily putting more clothes into a small pile. "Now, Lukka, why don't you sit down over there and we'll get to your hair in a moment."

"My hair?"

"Well, you need a haircut. And a Padawan braid, of course."

A braid. His breath hitched for a second, remembering Master Nesh'd insistence on this being a valued tradition, his own protests... Stars, it seemed like something that had happened so long ago.

A simple braid to show everyone in the galaxy that he was a Padawan. That he would one day become Jedi. There was something in that picture that spoke to him, that tried to pull him in, a small promise of _belonging_. But-

But he looked at Master Windu and at Knight Gibborn, their own robes a mirror reflection of his own, similar to every other Jedi he had ever seen. Almost like a uniform...

"No, thank you," he spoke up, almost not believing the words were coming from him. "I won't be getting a braid."

A moment of stunned silence.

"Pardon?"

Master Windu looked at him with furrowed brow, his hands clasped behind his back. Lukka made himself turn to meet his eyes head on, his own back taunt with sudden tension.

"I won't be getting a braid, Master Windu."

Even as he said that, he was mentally cursing his own stupid impulsiveness. It was an idiotic thing to argue about and he really should know better by now, should be grown up enough to pick his battles more wisely. It was such a small thing, almost inconsequential, but-

But Aunt Beru had always said that he needed to start the way he meant to go.

The memory of her face, of her calm, loving smile gave him strength to stand still and not fidget with his hands, to meet Master Windu's disapproving eyes. The Force stirred around him like a circling ben'tiger, watchful and tense, warning him of this moment's importance.

"And is there a reason for your refusal, Apprentice?" Master Windu took a step closer, taller and broader than Lukka, his voice deep and slow.

"I don't see why I should wear a braid, Master Windu," he replied honestly.

"It is a tradition spanning back to the very beginning of the Jedi Order, carrying the echo and the weight of centuries. To refuse is to diminish all those who had come before you, who had worn a Padawan braid with pride."

The words made Lukka feel small and ungrateful, his refusal an unforgivable snub. He took a deep breath, tasting tension and- not _lie_ , certainly not, but not _the truth,_ either. Merely a truth, one of many. And not his.

"I mean no disrespect," he countered. "But I'm not them. And the fact that something had been done for a very long time doesn't mean that it's the right thing to do."

And it didn't. Tradition was not enough to justify anything, not a stupid braid, not looking at him like he was a dangerous beast, not stealing children away from their homes and families.

"A braid will identify you as a Padawan to every other Jedi, which may someday become relevant, should you continue to find troubles with such an abandon."

He swallowed his first response, and his second, the Force freezing his tongue before he could rose to the provocation and thus prove Master Windu right. He had to concentrate on what was relevant to win this discussion, and he could not lose. There was more being decided here than his haircut, he could sense it clearly with every pore, every atom of his body.

"Judging by the whispers and unsubtle staring that had followed me since I came here, the Temple's rumour mill has that well in hand. A braid would be an overkill," he smiled wryly.

"And what about the beings outside the Temple, Apprentice? The public needs a way to-"

"Please, Master Windu," he couldn't help but interrupt, stopping an eye-roll with an enormous effort, because really? That from a man who probably hadn't spoken to a member of that 'public' in years, if ever? "The normal people don't know enough about the Order to recognise a Padawan braid. For them Jedi means a lightsaber and mysterious powers, they couldn't care less about my hairstyle."

Master Windu canted his head to the side, his shrewd eyes fixed on Lukka's face. His sense in the Force was still calm and quiet, but it was a quietness of a sand dune, hiding sharp rocks and monsters beneath. Knight Gibborn had long found an excuse to exit the small room, leaving them alone.

"I do not believe that _you_ care so much about your hairstyle, either," Master Windu remarked, his arms crossing over his broad chest. "Why are you fighting me on this, Apprentice?"

"I'm not fighting _you_ , Master Windu. I just truly do not see any reason to wear a braid."

Another moment of silence where they watched each other, the Force fairly quivering with tension. Lukka waited, consciously counting to three on each breath. He hoped that Master Windu would accept that and not dig any deeper, that he wouldn't try and force the issue the way Uncle Owen sometimes had, that he wouldn't-

"And the fact that I am your Master and wish for you to accept the Order's ways is not enough?"

-that he wouldn't force Lukka into open defiance.

He took a moment to reconsider, to make sure that he wanted to go this way- No, he didn't want that, it left a bad taste in his mouth, the familiar _Because I said so_ ringing in his ears like a blaster fire. But where he had folded to Uncle Owen, who had been his guardian and a parent, if a severe one, whom he had loved, who had died because of- Where he had conceded to Uncle Owen, he had no such duty to this man. And he was never good with taking orders, with doing anything just because someone had said so.

He didn't want to go this way, but he hated the alternative even more.

"You are my Master" he agreed, keeping his back straight and his head high, wishing absurdly for a familiar weight of a lightsaber on his belt. "Convince me that your orders make sense and I will follow them, but do not expect a blind obedience."

Master Windu opened his mouth, the Force shrill with the coming reprimand, but Lukka spoke over him, over any objections, using the only truth he would always cling to, the only one he had-

"You are my Master and my teacher. Not my owner."

The Force rang with his conviction, with his absolute certainty, apparently loud enough for Master Windu to take notice. He narrowed his eyes and took a long moment to reply. When he spoke again, his voice was controlled, strangely hushed in the small room.

"No, I am not your owner," a step back, that perceptive mind working quickly on the implications, looking over the new facets revealed. "Have you ever had an owner, Lukka?"

The sudden use of his name grated like a distant explosion, like a tell in a game of sabbac, unwarranted and false. He made himself smile, easy and friendly and completely closed off.

"No, Master Windu. I have grown up around slavery, but I am freeborn. I have never been a slave."

 _And he never would be,_ reverberated in the Force, his defiance, his surely giving his words weight and meaning, elevating them into a solemn vow. He would not be enslaved. He would not bow. Not to the Empire, not to Vader, not to the Dark Side, and certainly not to the Jedi Order, not to this man with quick eyes and jaundiced mind.

Mace Windu had to feel this as well, the immovable swell of the Force. He observed Lukka for a few moments more, then sighed and turned back towards the mirror, breaking the tension.

"Very well, if you wish to look like a ragtag bounty hunter, I am not going to stop you," he spoke easily enough, but his eyes were still observing Lukka attentively, still searching for clues and cracks in his defences. "But do not blame me if some of the more upscale institutions barre your entry because of your appearance."

"If they put so much stock in appearances, then I'll happily live without darkening their doorsteps, Master Windu."

"If only we all could be so lucky."

Soon they left the storeroom behind and walked back to their quarters, discussing Lukka's future lessons and duties amiably enough, but he could feel the brittleness of this façade. The Force was hissing about the battle lines drawn and tested, about a fragile armistice while his new Master looked for different ways to subdue him, to control and subject.

He trembled with the bitter disappointment setting like a frost upon the bond between them, turning it white and flimsy. Killed before it had chance to mature.

 

***

 

Later, at the end of a long day in what promised to be a week, a year, a lifetime of long days, Mace was staring at the holotransmitter in a communication room, deep in thoughts. He was... uneasy.

He had taken a Padawan before and had never regretted it. Over the years he had grown to appreciate Depa's commitment, her courage and intuition, had learnt from her just as she had learnt from him. He was proud of the Jedi she had become, a Master in her own right, sharing the burdens of the High Council with him. He had thought he was ready to deal with Ekkreth, whatever may come.

He had not expected opposition to come so soon, nor to be so- hard to resist.

Oh, he could have forced the issue, perhaps portraying it as an ultimatum, perhaps dismissing Ekkreth's reservations as a youthful rebellion. He chose not to. However dissimilar the situation, however baseless the comparison, Ekkreth would see that order through the lens of slavery, of one being wholly dominating, owning another.

Mace had not foreseen such a complication and was left wrong footed under the boy's piercing gaze. Now, many hours later, he was contemplating the mysterious ways of the Force. Amazing how a braid, such a small, unimportant detail, could reveal so much about a person, could open new paths.

They still knew next to nothing about Ekkreth's history and origins, but perhaps there was a more straightforward way to unravel his secrets. After all, there was no such thing as a coincidence.

He flicked his hand and a small blue light let him know that the transmitter was recording.

"Obi-Wan, I hope you are well and that the peaceful resolution to your current difficulties is imminent," he greeted, not daring to mention specifics even on supposedly secure channel, not when it would endanger the whole mission. "Rest assured it is not my intention to hurry you. However, I would ask you to return home as swiftly as possible, once you are done with your current task. You and your young charge had been missed by many, and there are some matters that I would like to discuss with you. I look forward to your safe return. May the Force be with you, my friend."

Another gesture ended the transmission, his message sent across the stars to the one Jedi familiar with managing picky boys marked by slavery. Mace would welcome his insight.

And he would ensure he was there for the meeting between the two Padawans. He was sure it would be most illuminating.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A big thank you to my beta, Princessleia9977, and to all of you who had read and left a review or kudos. And to all those amazing writers whose ideas I've stolen in this chapter (I just adore Tatooine slave culture head-canon, don't you?).
> 
> I know it has been some time, but well, real life... My best friend is getting married in a week, so updates will be slow this month, sorry.

Lukka leaned back in his seat, looking at his opponents over his cards, a small smile dancing along his lips. Clubbs noticed and barred her small, sharp teeth in a challenging grimace only vaguely reminiscent of a human smile.

“I’m rising another fifty,” she said, her accented basic almost swallowed by the bass music swamping the club. 

“Why not a round hundred?” he baited with a pleasant smile.

“’Couse she’s not an idiot,” Spink’d cut in, picking two more cards. “Not everyone is as desperate for currency as you, Puppy. Some of us like to enjoy the game.”

“Sure,” he agreed, discarding one of his cards and picking two new, hoping for- damn. Only two pips. “I hope that your enjoyment of this experience will help you swallow your loss gracefully, then.”

“You know me, I’m the picture of discretion and grace,” Spink’d replied, busy picking his nails with a small vibroblade. 

“What you are is a big liar, and a drama queen besides,” Blilng warbled, his voice shrill over his breathing mask.

“I’m checking,” Nhud-ned announced, her four eyes intent on the faces around the table. “Let’s see what have you got.”

Unfortunately, he didn’t have anything worthwhile, so this pot went to smug Blilng. Lukka cracked his fingers and dealt another round, vigilantly observed by the others in the dim, smoke filled light. He had a reputation as a lucky but honest bastard who always paid his debts, but well… This was sabacc. He didn’t take their watchfulness personally.

After all, he was quite used to it.

 

***

    
 “Good evening Lissbe”, he greeted the young Bohdii an hour later, gratefully sleeping through the small ‘personnel only’ doors.

“Rather good morning by now,” Lissbe said, his even, purple teeth gleaming in a friendly smile. “Had a good night with your lady friend?”

“Nah, she wouldn’t stop asking me about you. I got quite jealous,” he teased back, well aware of the betting poll concerning the purpose of his nightly excursions and not about to commit to anything. “How is your sister? Any luck with her university application?”

“Not so far,” Lissbe’s ears dropped down in disappointment as he closed the outer door and began to walk with Lukka down the narrow, badly-light passage. “But there’s still time, maybe she’ll get in. It all depends on how many free spots are left after the rich brats get their pick.”

“If there’s anything I can do to help…”

“I know, Lukka, but I don’t think there’s a lot that _can_ be done. But thanks,” Lissbe nodded with a small smile, obviously tired after a long shift.

“Thank _you_ ,” he said as they reached the discreet door leading into the third-floor dormitories. “I really am grateful for your help. My love-life would wither and die without you,” he added with a goodbye pat on the thin shoulder. It won him a small giggle and a lightening in the Force.

“And we can’t have that! Go on, then, lover-boy. Can’t keep you from your beauty sleep, not if you wanna keep her interested.”

“Good point. Goodnight, then,” with the last smile and a nod he sneaked through the hidden door and into the wide, well-aired hall, so different from the dim service corridors. Now for the tricky part…

Getting past the Temple’s surveillance was by no means easy, but then again, he had a lot of practice. And it helped that the cameras and sensor detectors were there mainly to keep the younger Padawans from causing troubles and, to a lesser extent, to keep any intruders out. Apparently, no one had thought it would be necessary to try and keep anyone _in_. 

He got into his room without any problems, glancing ruefully at the pinking sky outside his small window. He quickly disrobed and stashed his civilian clothing and blaster in their hidden spot, clicked his lightsaber back into his belt and then collapsed into his bed. He had just a short time before he was expected at his normal lessons, but he didn’t mind. He was glad for the exhaustion pulling him down, deep down past the ever-present song of the Force, into a sweet oblivion of sleep with no nightmares.

 

***

  
The first thing he noticed the next morning was the strange rippling in the Force. Not quite a warning, not a vision of the future, rather an excited sort of- waiting. Almost an anticipation.

The Temple felt different too, the halls more crowded, the chatter in the Dining Hall more excited. He sat in his usual corner and observed the other Padawans and Jedi, noticing the whispered comments, the frequent glances thrown at the door. Apparently, for once, there was something more exciting to gossip about than him.

The animated atmosphere persisted through his lessons in Core politics (boring) and etiquette (boring and embarrassing), making him almost curious enough to actually ask about the reason. But only almost. He hadn’t quite forgotten the frigid welcome nor nasty rumours still circulating about _him_ , and he wasn’t eager to join in. Besides, the Force was circling around him in excited currents, gleeful and excited like a small gato-pup. He was sure he would get his answers soon enough. 

He was on his way to his lightsaber practice when he received a summon from Master Windu. For a moment he was tempted to ignore it, eager for some movement, needing to expel the building tension. But in the last six months he had learnt how much he could safely push and when, and now wasn’t a good time, not with the trade crisis in Blingo Sector leaving his teacher tired and frustrated with endless negotiations. And besides, he _was_ curious.

He set out towards Master Windu’s bright radiance with determined steps.  
 

***

  
Obi-Wan took a seat at the inviting gesture from Master Windu, grateful for a reprieve. It had been a long debriefing, followed by an even longer discussion of all possible repercussions and future actions to be taken. That’s without mentioning the mission itself, or rather, one mission that had turned into a mini-marathon of small problems they had needed to attend to. He had been starting to forget what his own quarters looked like.

Now he took full advantage of the comfortable seat, finally allowing himself to relax, the Temple’s soft lightening and gentle warmth in the Force smoothing his nerves. Besides him Anakin plopped down as well, fidgeting with his hands and staring intently at the door. Probably impatient to find his own bed, Obi-Wan though with a hidden smile.

“I am very glad to see you and your Padawan back at the Temple,” Master Windu started, slowly walking around the room. He seemed uncommonly tense, the Force all but vibrating with- something. 

Obi -Wan looked at him with a greater attention, suddenly remembering his message from- oh, almost half a year ago. Could there be any connection? Surely not, not after all that time… 

“And we are just as glad to be back,” he allowed. “It had been a long and tiring couple of months, Master Windu. I will be glad to never see Galgiino Sector again if the Force is so kind.”

“One can only hope, my friend,” Master Windu’s wandering had brought him to the small drinking cabinet. In a few moments, the earthy smell of thigi tea wafted across the room to Obi-Wan, further calming him, reminding him that he was _home_.

It was a pleasant feeling.

“You will want to take the next few days to recuperate, I am sure. Make yourself at home again, meet with your friends. See what you have missed in your absence.”

“Yes, that is true,” Obi-Wan replied slightly puzzled by the small talk. Master Windu had never been one to trade banal niceties, nor to waste others’ time. “I am sure that many important things had happened while we were away.”

“Indeed.”

Silence descended upon the room. Master Windu seemed content to simply seep his tea and look over both Obi-Wan and his Padawan. Not that he could be blamed for the last one, anyway, as Anakin’s incessant twitching was starting to become quite irritating. Obi-Wan sent him a warning glance, but to no effect. Apparently, the doors were much more interesting than two conversing Jedi.

Well, not even conversing at the moment. What _was_ all that about?

“Master Windu,” he started respectfully, “while we are delighted to be back here and in your presence, is there anything we could help you with?”

Master Windu smiled a bit and inclined his head.

“I realise that you are tired, and I apologise for keeping you up, but there is indeed one matter that I could use your help with.”

“We are always glad to be of service, whatever the problem is,” Obi-Wan probed again.

“Not a problem as such as a – difficulty.”

Now, this circular conversation was truly bizarre and frankly, a bit worrying. What could cause the usually blunt Master to act so out of sorts?

“Master Windu-“ Obi-Wan started again but stopped as the door abruptly opened. There had been no warning in the Force of anyone approaching, how-

He looked at the young man who had entered, only to stop a few steps in, his wide eyes taking in both Obi-Wan and Anakin. He was a few years younger than Obi-Wan and wore Padawan robes, but without the corresponding haircut and- and with no Force signature! That was-

Obi-Wan looked questioningly at Master Windu, only to be completely ignored. The Jedi Master seemed to have eyes only for the young man and for- for Anakin?

Anakin, who had stood up as soon as the stranger had entered, a truly staggering show of respect for him, and now stood motionless, his body taut, his bright eyes drilling into the older Padawan. The Force was alive around him, swirling and swelling, agitated and- And Obi-Wan couldn’t pick up more than that, not with the Dark Side lying thick in the air, but he didn’t need to. He knew his Padawan, the boy was shocked.

A tense silence filled the room, the Force delighted, gleefully alive. The air turned rich with some sweet, spicy smell, with the hot winds of the desert and the distant cries of some enormous beast. Time seemed to slow as the two Padawans stared at one another, completely enraptured.

“Anakin!”

His Padawan jerked as if electrocuted and turned towards him, his eyes wide and blue, his face open as it hadn’t been since his early days in the Order. What in the stars-

“As you can see,” Master Windu finally spoke, “I have recently taken a Padawan. He hasn’t been with us long, but certainly long enough to pick up _some_ manners and know that it is unseemly to linger in the doorway.”

At this pointed remark there was a sudden burst of resentment in the Force, putrid like rotten meat, the sharp defensiveness blooming like a bruise, but not from the strange Padawan. It had originated from Anakin. Obi-Wan stood and came closer to him to put a gentle hand on his shoulder. The muscles beneath his palm were almost vibrating with tension. 

Master Windu’s Padawan had meanwhile moved into the room proper, but not towards his Master. Instead, he chose to lean against the far wall, still close to the door and almost opposite their small party. He appeared relaxed enough, his posture both easy-going and almost shockingly insolent, but his tight mental shields and darting eyes spoke a different story. Those eyes locked with his for a mere second and Obi-Wan felt a jolt of premonition shot through him, there and gone in a blink, leaving behind only a vague uneasiness.

“Apprentice,” Master Windu continued, his tone giving nothing away, “I would like you to meet a friend of mine, Knight Obi-Wan Kenobi, and his Padawan, Anakin Skywalker.”

“Well-met,” said apprentice greeted the with a swallow nod, but his eyes were trained at his Master, who returned the look with one of studied neutrality.

“Obi-Wan, Anakin,” and now these dark eyes turned towards them, towards Anakin, still almost trembling with some unnamed emotion, still unusually silent. “This is my Padawan, Lukka Ekkreth.”

At the sound of that name, Anakin drew a strained breath, almost a gasp, before shrugging Obi-Wan’s hand off his shoulder and taking a stumbling step forward. His whole being radiated surprise, uncertainty, joy, the Force singing with his rampant emotions, the jagged edges almost painful. He made a strange sort of gesture Obi-Wan had never seen before, his right hand lifting to touch first his forehead than his chest before flying to the right, his movements quick and fluid, his mouth opening-

“Master Windu,” Ekkreth spoke up, abruptly straightening, “as fascinating as it is to meet your friends- And who would have guessed that you do sometimes lower yourself to forming such dangerous attachments? But anyway, was there a reason for you summon? I am about to miss my session with Master Nasdu-ibb.”

“And we both know just how devoted you are to your studies, don’t we?”

“I am when it’s something _useful_.”

Obi-Wan shook his head, faintly shocked by the hostile air between them, before deciding that Ekkreth lack of respect was not his problem. Especially not when Anakin still stood frozen from the abrupt dismissal, his hands clenched at his sides, the Force swirling uneasy around him. Obi-Wan withheld a tired sight, well aware of his Padawan’s easily-bruised pride.

“Anakin?” he murmured into his ear, noting his apparent unwillingness to look at him. “Are you alright?”

“Yes, Master.”

Obi-Wan pursed his lips at the automatic answer, very unhappy with the situation.

“Well, as we Outer Rim hick don’t have any manners to speak of, you won’t be surprised if I ignore the social niceties and return to my duties. I’m sure your _friends_ won’t mind, Master Windu.”

And with that parting salvo Ekkreth exited the room, his quick strides taking him out before any answer could be uttered. Obi-Wan looked at Master Windu, truly shocked that he would tolerate such a disrespect from anyone, least of all his student. The Jedi Master didn’t seem to be outraged nor insulted, instead he appeared almost- satisfied. 

“Master Windu, what in the stars was all that about?”

That got him a long look and finally, a gesture towards his previous seat.

“Why don’t you sit down and I will attempt to explain? However, I do not wish to keep your Padawan from his rest any longer than I already have. I am sure he would prefer some sleep to listening to my boring tale.”

Obi-Wan doubted very much that any tale involving two being with such a volatile connection could ever be considered ‘boring’, but he had caught the exclusion with no trouble. As had Anakin, if the angry flush on his face was any inclination.

“I am fine, Master Windu,” he asserted stubbornly, sitting down without an invitation. “And I want to know who he is.”

Master Windu looked at Obi-Wan, his wishes clear. But no matter how much Obi-Wan respected Master Windu, his first duty was to his young Padawan and his well-being. Adding another humiliation to the previous dismissal would not help him.

“I am sure that Anakin can stay awake a bit longer,” he said calmly, finally taking the indicated seat. “I must confess that I am most curious about your Padawan’s story.”  
 

***

  
Lukka couldn’t sleep. Two days after that kriffing meeting and he still couldn’t sleep, despite the utter exhaustion pulling at his limbs and sanding his eyes. 

He had tried to keep busy, to distract himself from the guilty rolling in his stomach, but there was only so much physical training or tinkering with the mechanics he could get away with before being ordered to rest. Not even meditation had helped, the Force too loud, too oppressive upon his aching head. So now here he was, laying in his bed and staring at the dark ceiling, hoping, willing himself to sleep. With no success.

This was bullshit, this was such _kriffing_ bullshit! He was a soldier, he knew how to eat when he wasn’t hungry and how to sleep when he wasn’t tired, how to turn out the noise of the base and the flights taking off. Yet now he couldn’t find any rest, all because of-

Because of how he had treated Anakin Skywalker.

He had known that he would meet him one day, had dreamed about it and dreaded it in equal measure. He had remembered all the little things he had uncovered as a child looking for any connection to his father, he had recalled all the Imperial and Rebel propaganda about Darth Vader and wondered. Then there were all the rumours permeating the Jedi Temple, the whispers about a child hero from Naboo, about a prophecy and a ‘chosen one’, confusing him, muddling his thoughts. He had a vague notion of confronting his future father in some isolated place and- He didn’t know. Introducing himself? Getting to know him, like he had always wanted? Pulling his saber through him, as a favour to the galaxy?

He didn’t know.

And then his Master and that kriffing meeting, the formal sitting room small and stifling, the presence of young Ben (Obi-Wan, his _real_ name was Obi-Wan) throwing him off, that loss still hurting, after all this time… The dark eyes of Master Windu on him, quick and judging, always looking for a break in his shields, for a way to unravel him. And his _father_ -

Only not his father.

His father had always been a vague silhouette in his mind, missed and loved and ideal as only someone not quite real could be. Then he had gained flesh and a past, a glorious and pure Jedi Knight, only to turn cold and sour with the revelation on Bespin. His father, an enigma and an open wound, more shadow and a nightmare than a real person, all frightened whispers and a burning, darkly possessive Force presence…

Anakin Skywalker was nothing like that.

Kriff, he was a bloody _teenager_ , younger than Lukka, maybe twelve, thirteen at most! Small and slightly uncertain, he had the same blue eyes and blond hair as Lukka, the same nose, the same stubborn pride that Tatooine bred into all of its survivors. His Force presence had been loud and shockingly strong, but light and unashamed, free of any blemish of the Dark Side. 

So unlike Lukka’s own.

He had been taken aback, rooted to the floor of that stupid room, terribly conscious of his own barriers keeping his tainted Force signature from further unsettling others, of Master Windu’s probing presence and calculating eyes. Then the boy that would become the monster the galaxy feared, that would be his father, looked at him with the desert blue eyes and offered him the traditional greeting, an offer and a question in one, and he had panicked. 

He had rejected him as clearly as he could without finding another mining shaft to throw himself into, had refused his tentative offer and left as soon as possible, his turbulent emotions turning him rude and cruel. It was only after, when he had been put down by Master Nasdu-ibb for the tenth time, distracted as he was, that he even began to acknowledge the harsh truth. He hadn’t dismissed and snubbed a future Darth Vader, guilty of abandoning him as a child, of besting him in that sham of a duel, powerful and merciless and quite capable of being cruel in return. 

He had rejected Anakin Skywalker. He had hurt him out of nothing more than his own fears and a twisted desire to see someone else suffer for a change. 

The guilty rolled uneasily in his stomach, accompanied by the delighted cracking of the Dark Side.  
 

***

  
Another day spent avoiding his Master and attending to his studies, another sleepless night, and that was really getting ridiculous. It obviously couldn’t go on. His own doubts aside, he had behaved like an Imperial bully, all strength and distance and disregard for others, and that wasn’t who he wanted to be. With an aggravated sigh, he stood and quickly got dressed, then slipped out of his room in the direction of the kitchen.

Half an hour later he had tracked down Anakin to a small room on the second level, his intense radiance in the Force making it easy, his quiet preoccupation a sure sight that he wasn’t asleep. Lukka took a fortifying breath and pressed the intercom.

 Anakin’s surprise was audible through the Force, as was his uncertainty and hostility once he had identified his visitor. Still, after a few moments, the doors slid noiselessly open, Anakin standing at the threshold, blocking the way in. His crossed arms and stubborn lift to the small chin were not inviting.

“What do you want?”

“To apologise,” he replied softly, laying his hand over his heart and tilting his head to the left, barring the side of his throat. “To make amends. May I come in?”

Anakin remained motionless for a few heartbeats before nodding and moving aside, still suspicious, his narrowed eyes never leaving Lukka. His quarters were as standard and bland as anything in the Temple, but filled with a frankly shocking amount of clutter, mechanical parts and various keepsakes tumbling from the table and desk to the narrow bed and the floor. It reminded Lukka more of his workshop at ho- at Tatooine, than it did of the Temple’s impersonal dormitories. 

He ignored Anakin’s impatience to find a small spot free of mess and set his offering down, the borrowed basket strangely organic among all these machines. He opened it and started to remove foodstuff slowly, with the proper reverence. First, the big flask of pure water and two cups, then the numerous containers of hand baked bread, of roasted meat rich with spices, of soft vegetables and plump fruit. Anakin had caught his meaning after the first box and quickly moved in to help, to free more space on the table and to hunt down a pair of chairs. Lukka calmly finished the small ritual by brewing the tzai, its rich aroma always reminding him of Aunt Beru’s gentle hands and strong, unbowed back. 

He wished he could borrow some of that strength now.

They took their seats and Anakin poured them both water, as was proper for a host, but then waited for Luka to take the first sip and the first bite, as the older of two. Once that was done, he looked at Lukka in clear demand of an explanation.

“I am sorry for the way I treated you the other day,” he began slowly, still uncertain how much he should reveal. “I was surprised and annoyed with Master Windu, but I shouldn’t have taken it out on you.”

“You didn’t want to recognise me in front of your Master,” Anakin accused with a mulish expression. “Because I was a slave and you’re freeborn?”

“No,” Lukka replied instantly, sensing how sore that notion was to the boy, like a festering cut in his heart. “No, whatever you think of me, please believe that I have only contempt for slavers, but never

for slaves.”  
Anakin didn’t look convinced, the Force strained with his reluctant shame, his vulnerability, and so Lukka offered a secret of his own:

“My own father was a slave.”

That bought him a look of wonder, a sharp understanding blooming in the Force, instantly binding the two of them. Lukka looked away, uncomfortable with that notion, and selected a piece of meat from their shared meal, the taste spicy and familiar.

“How do you know?”

He looked up into those blue eyes, wide and fascinated and a mirror reflexion of his own.

“The Jedi usually don’t know who their parents were, not anything more than their names.”

“Is that you asking, or Master Windu?” he asked more sharply than intended, but he had sensed his teacher’s suspicion echoing in that question.

Anakin coloured and fidgeted with the bits of fruit on his plate, but didn’t look away.

“He did say that he didn’t know a lot about your history and asked me some questions, but I didn’t tell him much,” he admitted. “I wouldn’t betray any of your secrets, _Lukka_.”

He nodded slowly, sensing the sincerity ringing in the Force, but more than that, remembering all the old customs and tales and untold truths, and knowing that his secrets would be safe with this boy. They both had been born in the desert and understood its laws, knew better than to betray them to outsiders.

“I wouldn’t, either,” he promised and just studied the other for a few moments, basking in his warm presence, in the soothing ritual of breaking bread. “I hadn’t been raised in the Temple. I remember my family.”

“And they still let you become a Padawan?”

“As you said, they don’t know a lot about me.”

“Everyone knows everything about _me_ ,” Anakin murmured with a quiet resentment. “About my past, and my old master-“

“They don’t know anything important about you,” Lukka interrupted. “The most important things are always secret.”

The old maxim had rolled along his tongue without a thought, but its effect on Anakin was striking: he stilled and then smiled, warm and happy and open, looking at Lukka like he was someone precious, like- 

Like he was a piece of home.

His throat suddenly tight, Lukka looked down at his plate. A wave of homesickness overcame him and he longed again for his past, for home, that illusion of safety. Not for the hidden Alliance base and the warm friendship of his fellow Rebels, but for something even earlier, more fundamental. He could almost feel the twin suns on his neck and taste the coming sandstorm and hear the distant cry of krayt dragon…

He busied himself with his meal and the warm tzai until the burning in his eyes went away.

“They don’t know about my past, my family,” he said into his cup. “Or that I’m from Tatooine. And I want to keep it this way.”

“I won’t tell,” Anakin promised seriously and didn’t ask why.

After all, they both knew the weight and value of secrets kept and shared.  
 

***

  
Obi-Wan observed his Padawan’s kata practice with utter attention, sometimes correcting his form, sometimes offering helpful advice, but generally staying out of it. He was glad to see the smooth movements and precise thrusts. It would seem that Anakin was finally past that funk the meeting with Master Windu and his apprentice had put him in, and thanks be the Force. Obi-Wan had no patience for teenage angst, especially when the teenager in question refused to explain the reason behind it. 

“Be mindful of your position in relation to your surroundings, Anakin. Do not let anyone back you into a corner.”

“Yes, Master.”

As the boy moved away from the wall, Obi-Wan thought fleetingly back to that strange meeting. Master Windu’s unusual behaviour and his tale had been both unsettling and probably strongly edited, the Force hinting at deeper truths but revealing none of them. The rumour mill in the Temple had been far more helpful. 

He knew better than to trust the hearsay, but even so, the picture it painted was a disquieting one. He was almost glad that Ekkreth had stormed out of their meeting, obviously not interested in them. Yes, he was curious what had really happened to poor Master Nesh’d and just who the strange Padawan really was, but he had no intention of meddling. Ekkreth was obviously dangerous, tainted by the Dark Side and the rumours both, and he had no intention of getting stained by association. Nor would he allow Anakin to be influenced by Ekkreth’s wild disobedience.

His Padawan was headstrong enough without any further encouragement.

“Anakin, remember what I told you about overextending yourself!”

“Yes, Master.”  
 

***

  
Maja sat down next to Lukka, smiling at his lunch selection.

“Still trying to eat stuff not intended for humans, I see.”

“Still having no sense of adventure, I see.”

“Preferring to keep my sense of taste intact, that’s all. I have no idea how you haven’t poisoned yourself yet, with all these strange combinations you insist on trying…”

“I trust in the Force, young Padawan,” he teased her back, his blue eyes light and warm. She observed him for a moment, not even trying to hide it, and his smile went from devious to something small and gentle. “I am fine, Maja. You really don’t have to worry.”

“Well, I can’t trust you to take proper care of yourself, as evident,” she smiled back with a pointed look at- was that a genibug? Ugh. “And you are so thorny that others do not worry about you enough.”

“They do nothing _but_ worry about me.”

“That’s not what I meant,” she protested quietly, disliking his bitterness but unable to rebuke his statement.

“I know,” he patted her hand, his palm big and callused against hers. “But truly, I am perfectly fine. I would be even better if I could get Master Glimishig to stop droning on and on about the Inner Rim colonisation and settlement, but I guess you can’t have it all… I think she’s part protocol droid, nothing else in the galaxy could be so boring.”

“You are incorrigible!”  
 

***

  
Anakin followed the subtle pull in the Force through the Temple’s many corridors, his bare feet silent on the polished floors, until he came into a small workroom hidden among the vast cellars. The walls were pure stone, the floor bare and cold, but the thin layer of dust outside promised privacy and the light inside was bright and inviting. 

“What are you working on?” he asked eagerly only to automatically grimace, waiting for the inevitable admonishment about manners and civilised behaviour and proper greeting. He could almost hear Master Obi-Wan’s disappointed intonation…

“I’m going to improve the surface-device neurtotransmitter,” Lukka replied without a moment of hesitation, his Tatooine accent sharp along the vowels. 

“How?”

“By modifying the receivers to straighten the signal, hopefully without causing any recoil or blackouts.”

 He wandered closer, lured by Lukka’s interesting project, by the easy sense of comradeship.

“That shouldn’t be too difficult if you space the receivers far enough from each other.”

“Yeah, but I’m trying to minimise the device, so that’s really not an option.”

“What’s it for, then?”

Lukka shot him a look, the Force caressing Anakin with its warm embrace, gentle and inquisitive all at once. He smiled, leaning into this feeling.

“I want to improve _that_ ,” Lukka replied, raising his right hand, showing Anakin the bare mechanical skeleton, dark and inelegant. “It lags behind and slows me down in a fight. And the muted feeling is _banno o peya_.”

Anakin grinned at the curse in Huttese, wouldn’t be able to stop himself if he tried.

“What happened to it?” he asked, unable to hide his curiosity.  
There was a sudden spike in the Force, sharp and cold, almost as cold as Lukka’s eyes. He looked at Anakin for a long moment, eerily still and silent, the seconds stretching into eons. The Force was whispering about _danger_ , about _predators_ and _revenge_ , which made no sense at all, but kept Anakin rooted on the spot all the same…

Then Lukka looked away, down at his workstation, and the moment was broken. Anakin took a hasty step back.

“I lost a duel,” was all Lukka said.

“Against who?” he couldn’t help but ask, even as the Force sent him an urgent warning.

“Against a Sith,” Lukka ran a hand through his hair, blond and longer than the traditional Padawan haircut. “And then they saddled me with this monstrosity. And let me tell you, it’s heavy like a ton of _glinggo_.”

“So you are trying to make a better one?” he probed, all too willing to let the disturbing moment pass.

“I’m _going_ to make a better one. There’s no trying.”

Anakin groaned at the familiar phrase, the image of Master Yoda’s disapproving eyes flashing through his mind. Still, he moved closer, intrigued by the unexpected challenge. 

“Do you wanna help? I’m good at fixing things.”

“So am I,” Lukka replied with a strange little smile. “But I won’t say no to an extra pair of hands.”

“Great!” Anakin settled himself at a free stool, looking over the various microparts, tools and miniaturised sensors. “So what have you managed so far?”

 

***

  
“I really don’t know how you’ve managed to drag me into this,” Lukka grumped quietly as they walked the wide hallways of the Executive Building. The rich, gleaming new surrounding seemed to demand hushed whispers and appreciative glances.

“I asked. And asked again, and again, and again-“

“Yeah, you’re one annoying _puttino berka_.”

“He wants to meet you. I don’t often mention any other friends to him.”

And what was he supposed to say to _that_?

They arrived at the wide doors guarded by two Red Guards, their masked forms sparkling a nasty sense of foreboding in Lukka. He stopped and looked at them for a moment, noticing their silent readiness and obvious competence with weapons, sensing their dedication, their almost fanatical loyalty, cold and sure-

“Lukka?”

A small hand touched his arm, bringing him back to here and now, tugging him through the open doorway into the office beyond. The tall, dark red walls instantly closed them in, surrounding them in the vaguely threatening opulence. 

“Welcome,” the Supreme Chancellor Palpatine stood up and moved around his massive desk towards them, his arms raised in greeting. “Welcome back, Anakin, it’s always a pleasure to see you. And I see you have finally succeeded in convincing your friend to join us, well done.”

“Good morning, Your Excellency,” Anakin gave a shallow bow and a big smile. “He’s stubborn, but not as much as I am.”

“Your Excellency,” Lukka gave a small bow of his own, eyes drilling into the smiling politician.

“Please, do come in,” a light touch to Anakin’s shoulder got him moving. “Would you care for any refreshments? I have just got a shipment of that blue juice you like so much, Anakin.”

“Thank you, sir, I’d love some.”

Lukka watched, somewhat surprised, as Anakin went to the discreet sidebar and started to rummage inside, preparing the drinks with an ease of long familiarity. But then, there was no one but them in the office, no aide nor secretary, not even a protocol droid, and he couldn’t imagine the Chancellor lowering himself to mixing the drinks. He turned away and slowly started to circle the massive room, noticing the wide doorways leading to other rooms, the priceless artwork, and the dim lightning, the shadows gathering in the corners.

Anakin approached him and handed him a tall cup of blue juice, the colour instantly reminding him of bantha milk. He raised an eyebrow at the kid, because as much as he may sometimes miss home, the taste of that particular drink wasn’t something he was eager to revisit. He got only a sunny smile for his trouble.

Anakin went back to get his own glass and then joined the Chancellor in one of the seating arrangements, the wide armchair almost swallowing him whole. Reluctantly, Lukka moved over to join them, sipping his drink. Hm, not bad, not bad at all.

He ignored Anakin’s smug grin as he sat down, because he was mature like that.

“How have you been since our last meeting, Anakin?” the Supreme Chancellor inquired with a kind smile. “I hope your fencing lessons are going well?”

As Anakin launched in into a description of his life in the Temple, his voice excited and his hands drawing wide gestures, Lukka listened with one ear while observing their host. Chancellor Palpatine gave an impression of a benevolent uncle indulging a favourite nephew, all calm advice and fond smiles. He seemed genuinely pleased to be listening to Anakin’s description of a funny mishap during his last practice session. The Force around him was calm and clear but unresponsive, like around any other non-sensitive being. 

And yet-

He probed deeper, dropping some of his shields to open himself more, to listen better. He got the same sweet song of Destiny he had perceived in the Council’s Chamber, the vivid impression that the man before him was _crucial_. Beyond that, there were only the most vague of impressions, of a busy mind and quick thoughts, of plans within plans and shadowy intent.

Nothing surprising in a politician, then.

“-but I do believe we are boring your friend, Anakin.”

He came back to himself and looked into a pair of perceptive light eyes.

“Not at all, Your Excellency.”

“You will have to forgive us, we never meant to exclude you from the conversation.”

A worried brush against his shields drew his eyes to Anakin and he had to smile at the remains of chocolate smeared around his face. The Force probe quickly grew suspicious, those blue eyes narrowing, and he couldn’t help but chuckle as he handed Anakin a napkin.

The furious blush that surfaced on his face made it even better.

“And how are you setting in within the Jedi Order?” the Chancellor asked. “I understand that the- unusual circumstances surrounding your arrival may have made integration somewhat difficult.”

“Not especially, Your Excellency. I am quite adaptable.”

“Hm, yes, I imagine it is a valuable trait in a soldier.”

Lukka stilled, suddenly unsure.

“I’m sorry?”

“Oh, please, I did not mean to alarm you,” the Chancellor leaned back with a small smile, his head canted inquisitively to one side. “But it is quite obvious that you are not a typical Jedi. The way you carry yourself, the way you talk… I have known enough soldiers in my life to recognise one more. Tell me, where have you fought? Perhaps I know some of your comrades.”

 _Careful, no lies now_ , the Force whispered, small and cautious like a mouse in front of a vimbocat.

“I very much doubt that, Your Excellency. They are all gone now.”

“You’ve fought in a war?” Anakin butted in, his face openly curious. “Where? I haven’t heard about any wars going on.”

“In the Outer Rim,” he answered, choosing his words very carefully. “There are always some conflicts going on, one warlord fighting another. It seemed like we were fighting for the future of the galaxy at the time, but to the rest of the universe… You wouldn’t have even noticed.”

“You have my condolences, then. It is always tragic when war touches one as young as yourself.”

He inclined his head, hoping to move from that line of conversation, uncomfortable with spinning the half-truths to suit his purposes.

“I have been meaning to congratulate you on acquiring Master Windu as your teacher. I understand that it is quite an honour, to be mentored by one of the Council Masters’,” the Chancellor continued. “I have always considered Master Windu to be one of the most talented strategists of my acquaintance. I hope that offered the two of you a solid foundation for a rewarding relationship?”

Lukka tried to hide a grimace. He had quickly become personally familiar with Master Windu’s strategist’s talents, all of that cunning mind focused at him and unravelling his secrets. The Jedi Master knew that he was hiding _something_ significant and Lukka simply couldn’t share the truth, even if he had wanted to. It would either paint him as a dangerous Sithspawn, or it would win him a one-way journey to the nearest madhouse, or- He didn’t even know, the consequences were too many and too severe to imagine. 

So no, he wouldn’t call their relationship ‘rewarding’.

“Master Windu is a great Jedi and I am lucky to be able to learn from him,” he settled on saying.

Judging by the Chancellor’s quirky smile, he wasn’t fooling him any.

“Of course, being mentored by one of the Council’s Members must also come with some drawbacks. I imagine he does not have as much time as he would like to instruct you personally.”

“There are many dedicated teachers at the Temple, Your Excellency, and I am fond of self-study.”

“Hm, yes,” the Chancellor gifted him with a warm, knowing look. “It is important to remember that there are many things that life can teach us, coming from many teachers.”

Lukka nodded silently, not sure he understood all the implications of the Chancellor’s last remark, nor like them, either. The Force was mute but moving lightly, swirling like participles in a quicksand hole, deceptively playful. 

Lukka bit back a shudder.

Anakin piped up with a question and the rest of the short visit passed quickly, dominated by his chatter and the Chancellor witty but wise remarks. Lukka spent it observing the politician, not even pretending to be subtle, trying to catch a malicious look or a sharp gesture, a spike in the Force or a violent thought in that vast mind. He needed to spot something, _anything_ , that would give him a reason for his uneasiness, for the ridiculous urge to move away very slowly and quietly.

He couldn’t find anything.

Still, the feeling persisted, only intensifying when, just as they were leaving, the Chancellor asked Anakin to go ahead so he could have a few words with Lukka. The boy seemed displeased by that, but it was more a jealousy over a favourite’s attention than any true worry, and he went on easily enough. The wide doors swished shut behind him and then Lukka was standing alone with the leader of the Republic, this strange apprehension lodged like a piece of Hoth ice in his stomach.

The Chancellor looked at him for a long moment before taking a few steps back, towards one of the art displays. He seemed to be more interested in the huge metal sculpture than in Lukka while he asked:

“What have I ever done to earn your distrust, Lukka? And please, do not deny it,” he added when Lukka had opened his mouth, “such lies are beneath the both of us. I would like to know the reason for your suspicions, if you would oblige me.”

When he turned back to look at Lukka, his face seemed sad but kind, the age lines giving him the air of a worried librarian.

“Perhaps it is merely my general dislike of politicians, Your Excellency,” he replied cautiously.

“Or perhaps it is something more personal,” the Chancellor pressed, his palm resting on the carved surface of the metal monstrosity. “You seem like an honest young man, Lukka, someone that Anakin would benefit from knowing. He doesn’t have many friends. It would be a pity if the two of us couldn’t speak plainly with one another.”

“That’s an unusual request coming from a politician.”

“Have you known many in your short life?”

Lukka grimaced, knowing he had walked right into this one. The Chancellor gave a tired sigh and slowly moved along the line of artwork, trailing his hand over the delicate pieces.

“I understand that the Jedi Order has a very- specific way of influencing the political sphere, but I had thought you to be free from that particular mindset. I do not say it often, but today, here and now, I would have us speak only the truth.”

Lukka inhaled sharply, sensing something in the Force, something clear and ringing like a gong, coming- not from the man before him, but from the universe itself. The Force unfolded between the two of them like some giant, ancient beast, having been tempted by the Chancellor’s words, their meaning and sincerity. Now it rumbled quietly, having scented blood, waiting for Lukka’s reaction, his acceptance or rejection of the terms-

He swallowed with difficulty, his own pulse loud in his ears, terribly conscious of the moment’s importance, but uncertain- Oh, what the kriffing hell, he had never been one to hesitate before jumping head first.

“Then today, here and now, let us have the truth.”

The Force surged with a cry of triumph, like an eagle or a krayt dragon, sure and powerful and binding the two men to their terms, their oaths. 

The Chancellor paused in his meanderings and canted his head to the side, a curious expression on his face. Lukka abruptly wondered if he could feel something, even without being a Force-sensitive, if he could somehow perceive the chains of his own promise…

I didn’t matter. He had an opportunity he couldn’t afford to waste.

“Why are you being so patient with Anakin?”

The politician gave him a startled look at the abrupt question, so he added:

“You’re a highly successful politician and he’s just a boy from a forgotten corner of the galaxy. He’s nothing to you, and yet you sacrifice your time and attention to play a doting grandfather. Why?”

The Chancellor nodded his head with an expression of sudden understanding painted on his aged face.

“Is _that_ why you have been so distrustful towards me? Out of concern for Anakin? Well, I cannot blame you for that. But this is not the answer you are looking for, is it?” he added, perhaps seeing Lukka’s narrowed eyes, perhaps at the Force’s urging.

“I first met Anakin during a time of great difficulty, when emotions ran high and bonds were easily formed,” he continued, his eyes looking beyond Lukka, lost in memories. “Once that emergency had passed, my Queen had asked me to keep an eye on him and help him find his way, should I be in a position to do so. Over the few years we have known each other I have found him to be a delightful companion, full of good humour and generosity of spirit. This office demands much of any man who holds it, and it is often a joy to have Anakin brighten my drab days.”

Lukka listened carefully, with his whole attention focused into a fine blade. The Force was sweeping through him, igniting in him the subtle understanding of the realities the Chancellor described, watchful for any lies. There were none. The man spoke only the truth, as he knew it, of that Lukka was sure, but-

He closed his eyes for a brief moment and risked dropping his barriers, extending his whole being towards the Force, merging completely, hearing the tale again, _becoming_ it for an instant-

Then he raised his shields again, breathing slowly to adjust to being merely a human again, to coming back into his body incomplete.

He opened his eyes to the physical world and stated, very sure:

“It’s not the whole truth, not a complete picture. What is the _true_ reason? Why go beyond what was asked of you?”

The Chancellor blinded, apparently surprised, before giving a rueful smile and shaking his head. 

“I guess I should know better than to try to hide anything from a Jedi, even if the full truth puts me in a somewhat uncomplimentary light. Very well, then.”

He took a few steps towards Lukka, the dark material of his opulent robe whispering softly along the floor. 

“You called me a highly successful politician but a moment ago, and it is true. I have been involved in politics all my life and now I hold one of the most prestigious and demanding positions in the universe. I have found, over my many years of public service, that if one intends to do anything worthwhile, one must be sure to always cultivate useful friendships.”

“And Anakin is one? He’s only a Padawan,” Lukka asked, not really sceptical, the Force all but sang with the Chancellor’s sincerity, but wanting the man to explain better, to follow that thought to its conclusion.

“He may be only a Padawan _now_ , but one day he will become a powerful Jedi.”

“A powerful Jedi beholden to you,” Lukka accused, something setting heavily in his guts.

“Merely friendly with me, should I still be in the office,” that smile again, kind and understanding and twisting the knife all at once. “I am not the Jedi Council, to expect absolute obedience, my friend. I simply wish to witness and nurture Anakin’s growth. And the rest of my points still stand, he’s such a delightful child, so easy to become fond of.”

Lukka nodded slowly, accepting the man’s explanation, sensing the truth reverberating along his words. The Chancellor noticed this and clasped his hands, his tone abruptly brisk, business-like. 

“Now, if you are satisfied, I have a question of my own.”

Lukka sighed but there was no helping it, the Force was still binding them and he had to pay the price as well.

“I’m listening, Your Excellency.”

“I would have you tell me the reasons for your frosty reception of me. All of them if you please.”

And the Force swam through him again, through his heart and veins, from his lungs up into his throat, reminding him of his promise, compelling him to tell the truth. He didn’t try to fight it, he knew better.

“I do distrust politicians, in general,” he started, trying to give a coherent shape to his half-formed emotions and ideas. “I also don’t like your attention to Anakin, it seems dishonest to me, somehow. Befriending a child in hopes of one day calling in a favour is- not something I’m comfortable with,” he shrugged a bit, unable to explain himself any better, his simple vocabulary suddenly not up to par.

“It is not the only reason for my friendship with Anakin, but I can understand your concerns,” the Chancellor allowed with a small nod. “Are these all the factors?”

Lukka wanted to grid his teeth and stay silent, but the Force wouldn’t let him, it’s touch urging him to open his mouth and admit:

“No, Your Excellency. There’s also the Force.”

“The _Force_?” the man appeared honestly surprised. “And what does the Force tell you about me that is so damning?”

“Not damning, not at all, just-“ he ran a hand through his hair, unsure how to describe his vague feeling to someone not intimately connected to the rich world of the Force. “It’s nothing I can properly explain, but I simply _know_ that you’re going to change the galaxy, that you’ve got a Destiny greater than anyone I have ever met, save Anakin,” and Leia, but she wasn’t even born yet, the Force in the present wasn’t concerned about her. “I guess that made me uneasy, sensing a shape in the future but unable to properly see it. The rest is just… I don’t know. Some half-formed notion that you’re dangerous, I can’t even describe it.”

He gave another helpless shrug, hoping that his rambling explanation would be enough for the Chancellor.

The man observed him for a long moment, his blue eyes perceptive but placid, showing nothing of his thoughts. Finally, he nodded and moved closer, putting a friendly hand on Lukka’s shoulder. 

The Force gave the last deep shudder and dissolved the bound between them, their bargain now complete.

“You have keen eyes, my friend, and an intriguing mind,” Chancellor Palpatine said in a complementary tone. “I can only hope that what you have sensed is true. There are many things in this galaxy that could use a change, and I would like to be an instrument of it, helping to better others’ existence.”

He stepped aside and looked towards the huge window behind his desk, out at the movement and life blooming right outside his office.

“Yes, I believe that it is a high time to introduce some changes to the Republic’s fossilized structures, to try and adjust to these more dynamic times. What say _you_ , my friend?” he suddenly turned back towards Lukka, his expression intense, his sense in the Force ignited. “Do you not think that there are things that require alteration, that there are customs that have become obsolete?”

Lukka’s mind flashed unwillingly to the Temple’s crèche, to the Masters’ judging eyes and disapproving mounts reciting old laws about passivity and forbidden attachment. He grimaced.

“Perhaps,” he murmured. “Perhaps some change can be good.”

“Yes. Yes… It gladdens me that we are in agreement. It is always good to know who one can count on, when the time comes,” the Chancellor touched Lukka’s shoulder again, this time to lead him in the direction of the door, and continued before he could get a word in edgewise. “But come, come, we have kept Anakin waiting long enough, he must be getting frightfully bored by now.”

Then there outside the Chancellor’s opulent office, the waiting room almost simple and light in comparison, Anakin coming up to them.

“Is everything alright?” he inquired, but the look he gave the hand still resting at Lukka’s shoulder made his whole face light up with a smile.

“Of course, Anakin,” the Chancellor assured him, finally releasing Lukka.

These desert blue eyes turned at him and he found himself nodding.

“Yeah,” he muttered, unsure if he was telling the truth, but not seeing why things _shouldn’t_ be alright. “Everything is fine.”

Just terrific, really.  
 

***

  
Late in the evening, when even the High Chancellor would usually be preparing to finish his work for the day and go home, one of his aids was summoned into his office. He found his leader seated behind his desk, gazing out at the Coruscant skyline, apparently lost in thoughts.

“Your Excellency,” young Blibbu ventured respectfully, still unsure in his new position. “How may I be of service?”

“I would like you to place an inquiry with the Jedi Order, asking about the situation on Haruun Kal,” the most powerful man in the galaxy stated without turning, his deep voice echoing in the darkened office. “We have had some troubling news about the escalating conflict there, and it seems the local government is unable to resolve the situation. Please place a side note asking Master Windu if he has heard anything. He has visited the planet before and is most familiar with the current administration. We would welcome any help with finding a peaceful solution without risking further causalities.”

“Yes, Your Excellency,” Blibbu bowed low, honoured to be given such an important task. Contacting the Jedi! “It will be done.”

“Good.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note the UPDATED TAGS. There are some sensitive subjects described in this chapter, please check the tags to avoid triggers. Also, there are some views expressed in the Haruun Kal arch, and in the fic as the whole, that some may disagree with. I do not necessary share these views, but I enjoy playing the devil's advocate.
> 
> As always, sincere thanks to my beta, Princessleia9977, and to all you lovely, amezing people. Thank you for all the kudos and comments, they kept me going.

Haruun Kal was a small planet, vibrant and teeming with life. The temperature was high but lacking the humidity Lukka had come to associate with rich vegetation, unlike the tropical Yavin, nothing like the damp Dagobah. The air was dry and sticky at the same time, rich with the local aroma, with the dazzling song of the Force.

Lukka stood a step behind Master Windu and tried to be discrete while taking deep breaths, the sweet, almost earthy taste of the Force briefly overwhelming him. It was a while before he could gather his senses and look closer at the welcoming committee. (And wasn't that strange, to be awaited not by a single contact or a hostile group of bounty hunters, but by a _welcoming committee **,**_ of all things… Han would have never let him live it down.)

The group of dignitaries and politicians was composed entirely of humans, many of them dark skinned and athletically built, reminiscent of Master Windu's appearance. With their rich robes and smooth voices, they could be just another group of senators from Coruscant, gathered there to gossip and further their own ends.

"-grateful for the assistance and personal interest of the Jedi High Council. Anything we may provide to further a swift end to this senseless conflict-"

Politicians. Ugh.

Lukka turned out the droning speech and studied his surroundings instead. Behind the dignitaries was a smaller group of competent looking men, probably aides of some sort, and a few plain-clothed bodyguards. The whole landing platform, wide and empty but for their vessel, was guarded by a military unit of some sort, placed discretely in the shadows but unmistakably _there_. Their grim faces and openly worn weapons were a bitter illustration of the ongoing conflict. Beyond them, at the near platforms, there were groups of spectators, many of them, standing and staring, strangely silent, almost unsettlingly so. The Force whispered a faint warning, a small caress along Lukka's spine, the danger elusive and undefined.

"-Let us proceed to the Palace's banquet Hall, where a humble welcome has been prepared-"

In a moment they were moving, leaving the crowd of observers behind, their security detail flanking them, the wide corridors of the capital's Palace echoing with their slow steps. Try as he might, craning his head and staring along the decorative balustrades and open chambers, Lukka couldn’t spot even one Blimbosh, not in the welcoming party, not at the feasting table, not even as a hired help.

Apparently, the other side of this fight was not present to welcome the Chancellor's ambassadors. Well, good for them. At least _someone_ had managed to avoid being bored to tears.

 

***

 

The next morning arrived bright and hot, the traditional Jedi robes feeling too thick and stifling on Lukka's shoulders. He had endured Master Windu's lecture on proper behaviour without betraying his irritation, had correctly answered all his questions regarding Haruun Kal political scene and their objective, had even managed not to roll his eyes at being told to basically shut up and observe the proceedings. Leia would be proud of him.

The meeting room was big and painted bright blue, the wide windows closed tight against the fresh air, the negotiation table packed with politicians, officials, even a few military men. There were aides and secretaries sitting along the walls, there was even a pair of maids to offer refreshments. What was very obviously _not there,_ was the Blimbosh delegation.

Master Windu had to have noticed as well, because after a few banal pleasantries he remarked:

"I was given to understand that you are eager to resolve this conflict as soon as possible, High President."

The President, a tall man in his forties, nodded calmly back from his seat at the head of the table.

"Yet I do not see any representative of the Blimbosh nation. These negotiations can hardly bear fruit if one of the sides is not present."

"Their absence is no fault of ours, Master Windu," President Klimosh replied, his voice strong. "We have made every effort to invite them here, many times over the past years. This is hardly the first peace summit we have organised, Master Windu. What the Coruscant and the Jedi Order perceive as an inconvenient conflict has been our bloody reality for a long time, destroying the lives and livelihood of our people. Believe me, every effort has been made to resolve this in a peaceful manner. With no success."

"I do not question your devotion to your people, High President," Master Windu replied carefully, the Force around him circling like an agitated bull. "But I also do not believe that there ever comes a moment when one should give up on finding a peaceful solution. Surely there is some way to contact the Blimbosh leader and invite them to join the discussion."

"They _don't have_ a leader, Master Jedi," one of the military man cut in, his tone and Force presence all but screaming his disdain. "They are not a democracy like we are, they don’t have any leaders we may parley with-"

"You forget that I am somewhat familiar with your planet, General Johinj. We both know that Blimbosh Keentar is the one responsible-"

"The last treaty Keentar sighted was violated in a matter of days, though she claimed that the offenders were not her subjects. She's either lying or too weak to control her own subjects, and frankly, I don’t care which, not when those kriffing animals leave bloody corpses behind-"

"Thank you, General Johinj," President interrupted gently.

There was a moment of silence, the Force gently lapping at edges of Lukka perception, highlighting the General's hatred and devotion, the President's quiet resolution, grim resignation or resentment in other politicians. Despite its wide dimensions, the room felt small and suffocating, the negative emotions laying thick like dust along the rich furniture.

"Master Windu," President Klimosh addressed them, "we are grateful for any suggestions and aid maintaining the security of our population. We hope that your famed tactical talents and backing from Coruscant could help save lives. We are not-" he raised his voice and kept speaking over Master Windu's interruption, not even slowing down "we are not giving up on finding a peaceful solution, but one must be realistic in their expectations. We have no one to negotiate with, no one to guarantee the sanction of any possible peace treaty. We must look after our own people first, Master Windu, and I will not risk even one life by trying to reach out to the Blimbosh again. Not when our last messenger did not return alive."

He stood, followed by the rest of his council.

"You are always welcome here, Master Windu," he said a bit more softly. "You have been our nation's friend in the past and I hope it will remain so. But things look different here, on the ground level, then they do from Coruscant."

"I understand," Master Windu stood as well, Lukka hurriedly following. "My help and support is always extended to those who need them. I have but one question, President: should we convince the Blimbosh representatives to give peace one more try, will you return to the table?"

"Yes. If you can guarantee they won’t set the table on fire."

Lukka stood and watched uneasily as the glittering procession left the chamber, slow and solemn like a funeral crowd.

 

***

 

"How do you want to find the Keentar, Master Windu?"

They were standing on a roof of a tall building, for all intend and purpose just taking in the sights. It was early evening and the sun was slowly setting, painting the city in warm colours, snug and calm and so different from Coruscant.

"One does not find the Keentar, Padawan," he replied calmly, slowly stretching his senses, weary after an entire day of arguing with politicians. "We will let it be known that we wish to speak to her and hope that she is magnanimous enough to grant us an audience."

"And if she isn't?"

"Then we will investigate other venues."

Ekkreth looked at him with a sceptical expression, his arms folded across his chest and the Force meandering around him lazily.

"And in the meantime?"

"In the meantime, you may tell me what you have learned from Master Fludrii about deep healing trances."

Ekkreth didn’t change his expression, but Mace had slowly learnt how to read him, how to follow the Force as it slowed, discontent and spiky, reacting to his restlessness. It never ceased to amaze Mace just how strong the boy's connection was, how instinctual. Where others had to strain to listen and touch the Force, Ekkreth made it seem effortless, the natural state of being that many Masters preached about but had difficulties achieving. As if it really was as simple as breathing…

"Is now truly the best time to quiz me on my lessons, Master?"

"If you would prefer, we may always start with your history classes. I know you find the Colony expansion period to be especially fascinating."

An annoyed fluctuation, tasting of cold and slimy caves, of unfriendly eyes in the dark. Yes, Mace was getting to know his Padawan better every single day…

 

***

 

Three days on the planet and nothing. The government representatives were all respectful but useless, the military both familiar and unsettling (the Rebellion hadn't been all that great with discipline), the population silent and tired. Master Windu was spending most of his time with various dignitaries, revising the planet's defences and waiting, apparently quite content, for the mysterious Keentar to agree to a meeting. Or not.

Lukka was quickly running out of patience.

In the afternoon of the fourth day they were walking along the capital's main boulevard, the crowds making space for them and their escort, Rounth. He was one of the President's sons, young and personable, making his way up the political ladder, with a habit of gesturing wildly when he got passionate about something. Lukka liked him, even if right now he was making excuses for his father's inaction.

"-the economy has been hit hard by the recent attacks and subsequent drop in export, Master Windu, and many people are struggling to make a living. You cannot expect them to sacrifice the much-needed resources on integration programs for the very beings that threaten them-"

A sudden tremble in the Force drew Lukka's attention, hot and cutting. He pirouetted wildly, looking around, trying to- There! A woman walking in their direction, young and pretty, and unmistakably, deadly dangerous.

"Apprentice?"

He spared a glance at Master Windu before refocusing on the approaching threat, the woman now no more than twenty meters before them, still behind the ring of their military escort. The Force was screaming at him about _danger,_ urging him to attack, to eliminate- He had his lightsaber in his hands, the green blade humming a hungry song, the woman now close enough he could see her face, dark eyes and calm sureness.

Master Windu had spotted her as well and came to stand next to Lukka, his saber in hand but unlit, his own senses strained towards the stranger. The Force was turbulent, lightening Lukka's veins and urging him to move, to _attack,_ but there was no weapon in the woman's hands, no blaster or vibroblade, nothing but that cold sense of doom-

"Stop!" one of the soldiers shouted, his blaster steadily pointed at the woman. "Stop right now!"

Lukka raised his arms in a classic attack position, ready for _everything-_ There was a hand on his shoulder, on his right wrist, forcing his blade down, leaving him open, _defenceless-_

He twisted around and met the stern eyes of Master Windu.

"Stand down, apprentice. Jedi do not attack unarmed civilians."

"Can't you feel that?" he argued, trying to free his hand from the restrictive hold. "She's dangerous-"

"Hold! Stop and show me your hands!"

Eight meters away and still slowly walking, not stopping, not even at the raised voices and blasters- He couldn’t let her any closer, he would be _dead-_

"Your perceptions are no grounds for a public murder, Lukka!"

Six meters, almost _there-_

He twisted madly and threw out his left hand, the Force following his command, surging and throwing the woman away, through the gathering crowd, _away from him-_

A second of stunned silence, and then.

Then he was on the ground, his head ringing, his back and side screaming in pain. There was gravel under his check, in his mouth and eyes, the side of his face wet and hot. Something metallic bloomed in his month, behind his bones. The Force was shrieking, swelling with death and fear and pain.

He opened his eyes and still couldn't see anything, dust and dark sand obscuring his vision, his head throbbing, slow and deep. Through the ringing in his ears he heard screaming, cries of pain, it was an Imperial attack, he couldn’t stay there, they'd find him-

He stumbled to his feet, the landing bay under him uneven, the grey surface cracked by the bombardment and dirty with blood, his fellow Rebels laying on the ground, screaming, holding their wounds, the stumps of missing limbs- The air smelled of petrol, was any of the storage units hit, they could explode at any moment, he needed-

"Lukka!"

He swirled and looked at-

He looked at Master Windu and took a shuddering breath, choking on dust and smell of burnt bodies, but finally present in here and now. Haruun Kal, negotiations, boulevard, the strange woman… Explosion.

 

***

 

Mace finished his holocall with the rest of the Council and quickly made his way back to their shared quarters. He didn’t want to leave his Padawan alone longer than necessary.

The day had been- difficult. In the aftermath of the unexpected attack, there had been wounded to help, dead and dying to honour, the security to be organised, then debriefings and meetings and-

And he had no chance to mull over his Padawan's disquieting reactions.

He had seen people in shock before, wide-eyed and deathly pale. That hadn't been it. He was familiar with the blind terror, with the urge to run and hide, or the burning anger that caused one to pursue their attackers. That hadn't been it. He knew the look of those who had seen the death for the first time, who had just realised how easily the human body could be reduced to meat and bone. That definitely hadn't been it.

In those first seconds, Ekkreth had been- not there. Lost in his mind, in sudden vision or in memory, but certainly not with Mace on that unlucky boulevard. He had had to shout his name a few times before any glimmer of recognition returned to those blue eyes. After that, his Padawan had done an excellent job helping with the injured, calm and competent and still friendly, warm, easing others' fears and pain. Mace was impressed with his composure, almost proud. And very worried about his silence afterward.

The slim metallic door slid open, the room behind them dark and echoing, empty. He entered slowly, the Force lurching uneasily, chilly and quiet, urging him to be silent as well, to tread softly. He left the unoccupied reception room and reluctantly entered his Padawan's bedroom.

That room was deep in shadows as well, but enough moonlight fell through the open window to show the dark outline of Ekkreth, sitting on the window ledge and staring down, at the courtyard many floors below. The pale light glittered on the handle of a lightsaber, held loosely in his hands, rotating slowly.

They were both silent for a moment, tasting each other's presence, their muted emotions, their shared exhaustion.

"I have just finished speaking with the Council," Mace finally said, coming to sit on the chair next to the window. His legs and back hurt. "They will petition the Senate to allocate additional founds to help deal with the humanitarian crisis on the planet, perhaps send some medical aid."

"How many?"

"Well, that depends on the Senate's budget and the number of volunteers-"

"How many dead?"

Mace sighed tiredly, rubbing his forehead, the headache a persistent irritation.

"Thirty-seven at the latest count. Over eighty injured."

The dark handle rotated slowly in those mismatched hands, the Force swirling along with it.

"The number of casualties is likely to increase before drawn. Some of these injuries are critical."

Still no words, just a slight buzzing at the back of Mace's mind. Nothing concrete to be worried over. He should go to sleep, he was tired and the next day would certainly be even more challenging. He needed rest. Only-

Only the quiet, withdrawn youth before him was not his Padawan, stubborn and insolent and headstrong.

"What is troubling you, Lukka?"

He waited. Two minutes, four, a long time in the silvery darkness. His exhaustion made him quiet and mellow, for once not pushing, not demanding. Just waiting.

"…I should have known."

"You couldn’t have known," he replied instantly. Of all the things to blame himself for…

"The Force warned me-"

"It warned both of us, but a warning is just a premonition, vague and often not enough. I too saw that terrorist approach, I have felt the danger but failed to recognise its source… No one could know that she was a suicide bomber, that there was an explosive vest hidden under her clothes. No one."

Lukka shook his head, stubborn even now, his guilty lending the Force swirling around him a bitter aftertaste.

"If anything, then I should apologise," Mace continued quietly, his words a mere rumble in the dark. "And thank you, for getting her away from us."

"It was nothing," Lukka murmured, still not looking at Mace. "Just instinct."

"Well, your instinct saved our lives. And the life of the High President's son."

"And cost almost forty people their lives, when I sent her into the crowd."

"You are not to blame, Lukka," he repeated, insistent. "You couldn’t have known-"

"I should have! I know what a kriffing suicide attack looks like, I've _been_ the one holding the bomb, I _should_ _have_ known!"

The echoes of that shout seemed to take a long while to disperse. Ekkreth had stood up and now was pacing along the room, his lightsaber clutched tightly in his fist. Mace very deliberately didn't move from his seat.

"And yet you are still here, very much alive."

"That's 'cause it was always the rest resort, the wild _get away_ card, and the Im- the other guys had always wanted to live more than they wanted to capture us. Besides, I'm a pilot, not a field agent, I didn’t run many missions planet side. But I _know_ how it looks like. I should have recognised it."

Mace found himself torn between trying to comfort his distressed Padawan and wanting to learn more about his past, this openness unusual and surely not lasting long. He hesitated for a moment, the Dark Side of the Force grating on his exposed nerves…

"Have you often attacked civilian targets?" he asked. He knew his duty.

"Never," the answer was immediate, almost insulted. Then Ekkreth sighed and tiredly sat back down. "Not knowingly, anyway. Sometimes the intel wasn't so good, but we never attacked non-combatants. That wasn't the point."

"What was the point, then?"

"To survive. To fight. To defend the innocents, to oppose tyranny, to help our friends… To take revenge for our friends, if all else failed. And if our time would come, if we had to go, then to take as many of these bastards with us as possible. Through we favoured the thermal detonators, not the bomb vests. Easier to carry around."

Mace observed that young profile, the clenched jaw and sad eyes, and waited, hoping to hear more. The noise outside had died down, the last of the rescue crew leaving the district, only the occasional cry of mourning disturbing the quiet night.

"I've never imagined how it would be, to be on the other end of a suicide attack. Just how… how pointless, how _senseless_ it would appear."

"To waste a life is always a tragedy, to pull others down with you doubly so," he replied, sensing the great bleakness in Lukka, his sudden longing for- something. The Force all but wept with his desolation.

"It didn’t feel like a waste back then. It felt like- It was the only viable option."

"No, Lukka," he reached over and placed a hand on those nervous fingers, stilling the lightsaber's twirling. "No. There is always another option. Always. You just have to trust the Force and follow your path."

Ekkreth finally turned and looked at him, his face hidden in the shadows, his whole being radiating an unsettling focus. He was silent for a long moment.

"And what if the Force leads me into darkness?"

"Impossible. We all come from Light, and in Light we will remain, if only we choose to not give into our hatred and anger," he replied calmly, very sure. "Remember that the future is always in motion. Your path depends only on you."

An even longer silence followed, the Force swirling and searching, finally settling down like a cloak around Lukka, still and cool like an afternoon shadow. The boy looked at him and then sighed, standing up.

"Thank you, Master Windu. I'll be sure to remember that. Now I'm sorry, but I'm very tired."

 

***

 

_We all come from Light, and in Light we will remain._

Those words echoed in Lukka's head the next day during the endless meetings, debriefings, while he was hurriedly eating, walking along emptied streets, seeing the many candles and local flowers laid down in the place of the attack… During the long and bleak memory service for the dead.

_We all come from Light, and in Light we will remain._

But what if one didn’t come from Light? If one's roots were in Darkness, in evil and hate strong enough to destroy the galactic government, to eradicate the ancient Jedi Order, to annihilate a whole planet as a demonstration of its power? Strong and vicious enough to hunt down and lure in and mutilate its own son? What then?

(He wondered anew who his mother had been. He knew nothing about her, not even her name. He could guess that she was free because _he_ had been born free, but... Had there been some Light in her, to help balance her lost son?)

 

***

 

Lukka had half-expected their mission to be aborted following the terrorist attack, apparently only one in the sting of many. Could they ask those people to be in one room with their attackers, let alone to parley with them? He couldn't imagine sitting down to the negotiation table with any of the Imperials, not with late Governor Tarkin, not with unimaginative but brutally efficient Admiral Ozzel, nor General Gliham, famous for his conquest and pacification of Ghandu Region. To say nothing of Darth Vader.

Yet two days after the attack they had received word that Keentar was willing to grant them an audience this very evening. They were told to arrive at the meeting point at sunset, alone and unharmed.

Lukka didn’t like it. Not one bit.

He especially didn’t like the easy way Master Windu had agreed on the terms, apparently satisfied that Keentar promise would guarantee their safety. He then stopped Lukka from trying to smuggle any weapons on him, confiscating both his lightsaber and a blaster. Even the small vibroblade from his boot didn’t survive the culling, for Force's sake!

"I would have to be either really patient or really desperate to hurt someone with it, Master Windu."

"Then it is of no consequence if it remains in your quarters."

"Not unless we _do_ encourage any trouble, we may become that desperate _then."_

"Trust in the Force, Padawan, it is the only weapon you need."

Yeah, easy for Master Windu to say that, _he_ had a lifetime of training to fall back upon.

Anyway, here they were, standing before an abandoned hut by the lake, the evening falling around them, the noises of nature calm and soothing. They didn't try to enter the dilapidated building, there was no need. There were no sentient beings in the vicinity, the Force calm and clear like the deep green lake behind them.

They waited.

Finally, after the sun had set and the temperature dropped uncomfortably, there was a ripple in the Force and soon after two scooters appeared from the dense forest. The machines were strange, built in a larger scale than was usual, probably to accommodate their drivers.

Lukka observed them attentively as they slowed down and stopped a good ten meters away. The Blimbosh were larger than humans by at least half a meter, heavyset and densely build. Bipedal, with physiology similar to humans but for the short fur covering their bodies. Their heads, oblong and slender, with pointed ears located high, were somehow reminiscent of predators.

"Greetings," Master Windu began, calmly taking two steps forward. "We are the ambassadors who seek to receive the blessings of Keentar, should she wish to bestow them."

"Greetings," the taller Blimbosh replied, his (was it a he? _Yes,_ the Force confirmed) Basic accented and low-pitched but understandable. He had pointed teeth and something in the way he turned his head reminded Lukka of a big hunting dog. "Have you honoured Keentar's request?"

"We are unarmed," Master Windu confirmed, spreading his hands slightly. Lukka did likewise, resigned to being searched, but the two messengers remained as they were, not coming any closer.

"We take your word in good faith," one said. "Come and sit, we will take you to Keentar."

Lukka tensed slightly at that. He could understand the unannounced change of location, it was a good security measure, provided that the package didn’t have a transmitter on them. He had used that tactic himself time and again. It didn’t mean he had to like _being_ the package.

Master Windu merely nodded and climbed the scooter to sit behind the driver. He looked a bit comical, his muscular frame drafted by the Blimbosh's bulk. Lukka didn't smile only because he knew he would be even worse off.

The ride wasn't terribly long, maybe half a standard hour of manoeuvring along the shore, avoiding the huge trees and dense undergrowth. Lukka spent it holding onto his guide and trying to memorise their course, reaching out to check for approaching danger, wary of a trap. The Force was calm and smooth, though, the rich flora and fauna lending it a distinct texture, ancient yet vibrant, almost citrusy to his senses. The driver before him was another source of fascination, his Force signature as unresponsive as every other non-sensitive, but holding a depth to it he had never encouraged before. Not an almost-Jedi, not a potential wasted, rather… a different kind of sensitivity, alien yet not alarmingly so. A puzzle.

They came to a stop at a small cleaning, empty but for a single figure sitting before a merrily burning fire. He and Master Windu dismounted and slowly approached, aware of suspicious eyes of their escort not leaving them even for a single moment.

Master Windu stopped a few paces before the robed figure and gave a practiced bow, respectful but not too deep. Lukka copied him, uncomfortably aware of his short training in the finer points of etiquette, the stiffness of his motions. The stranger nodded back.

"Be welcome, Jedi" she said in an old, almost musical voice. "Please, sit. Share my warmth and protection tonight."

"We thank you, Keentar," Master Windu replied and sat down on a log opposite the Blimbosh, the fire crackling merrily between them.

Lukka chose to sit on the ground to the side, halfway between them. His first impression had been right, she was old, her face lean and somewhat dry, her fur pale and brittle with age. She kept herself straight, however, her head held high and her hands steady as she tended to the fire. Old she may be, but it was an oldness of a rock surviving weather and pressure, not cracking but getting denser and sharper instead.

"Keentar," Master Windu began after a few moments, when it became clear she would not, "I am Jedi Master Mace Windu, and this is my Padawan, Lukka Ekkreth. We have come to you on behalf of the good people of Harrun Kal, to ask for peace."

Lukka saw her smile at that, a strange expression.

Master Windu continued:

"The disagreements between your two nations have already consumed countless lives and destroyed many dreams, brought much pain and suffering. We have arrived to help end this destructive conflict. To achieve that, we invite you and other Blimbosh representatives to come and sit with us at the negotiation table, to discuss how we may build a brighter future for all involved. Are you willing to accompany us back to the capital? To talk with the High President Klimosh and help end those senseless hostilities?"

"No, Master Jedi. I am not."

She didn’t sound angry or insulted, there was no blind fanaticism on her face. Master Windu observed her for a moment before replying.

"May I ask why? Your safety has been guaranteed by both the President's word and our presence. Whatever the outcome of the talks, you and yours will be completely safe for the duration."

"I am sure that you would do your best to protect us."

"If not fear for your safety, what is holding you back, Keentar? I do not believe that you wish for this conflict to continue, that you take any pleasure in the blood being spilled and the lives being lost," Master Windu leaned forward, his voice depending slightly, turning softer, warmer. "Is there someone within your own ranks making threats against you, trying to keep the hostilities going? We can track them down and free your hands, Keentar. Just say the word."

"Yes, I am sure you are a good hunter, Master Jedi, ready to hunt down your enemies at the moment's notice."

The way she said it left no doubt that it wasn't a compliment.

Lukka observed both her and the Force attentively, trying to reconcile this calm, apparently wise woman with the bloody terror of boulevard, with countless fights and years of attacks on civilians. He could not. Oh, he knew that leaders could be calm _and_ ruthless, wise _and_ perfectly willing to use that intellect to bring destruction upon their enemies. Many of Alliance commanders had been like that, polished by war and loss into uncompromising fervour. Was she the same?

"Keentar, I fail to see the reason for your unwillingness to broker peace. Surely you do not wish to see Blimbosh suffer in the counter-attacks?"

"We have moved to the threat, then, Master Jedi? So soon? I was told Jedi were more patient than that."

"There are no threats here, Keentar-"

" _Why_ won't you come and talk to the President?"

Both of them looked at Lukka, surprised by his interruption. He was a bit surprised himself. He had been told to only observe and learn, but- But they were just so frustrating with their back and forward, back and forward… And he had always learned best by jumping into a fray and just _doing_ stuff, anyway.

He ignored the displeasure radiating from Master Windu and kept his eyes on Keentar. She looked back for a long moment, saying nothing, apparently just observing him, bright and attentive. He wondered what she saw.

After a few moments she smiled, unexpectedly warm.

"That's it, young man? _Why?_ No theories of your own, no assurances, no smooth diplomatic double-entrees?"

"I'm not a diplomat," he replied truthfully, wishing in that moment that he was one, that he could offer her something more than just his incomprehension.

"Keentar, my Padawan was merely-"

"Your Padawan was merely asking the right question and seems willing to listen to an answer, unlike so many others," she interrupted Master Windu without raising her voice, without even looking at him. Her eyes remained locked with Lukka's, bright and strange, the pupils larger than in humans.

"Why won't I talk with the High President?" she continued. "Why should I? What could he tell me that I haven’t heard hundreds of times before? Why should I risk the lives of my clan and myself just to listen to a list of reasons why I must concede to his demands?"

"I understand that negotiations mean that both sides have demands," he replied cautiously. "They talk and meet in the middle."

"You would think so, wouldn’t you?" she smiled again, without any humour. "That is what the term negotiation implies. But what you have failed to recognise is the fact that parleying is for equals. One does not negotiate with a dumb animal."

"But you aren't one!" he blinked, thrown by her words.

"And no one would do you the discourtesy of suggesting otherwise, Keentar," Master Windu interjected.

"Do you think me blind and stupid, Master Jedi? I am well aware of how they talk about us in their cities, how they _think_ about us. How they have made _you_ think about us."

"I don’t think you're an animal," Lukka responded, honestly baffled.

She rose unexpectedly, graceful and silent, and came over to stand before him, over him, her clawed hand on his chin, holding his face up, towards the flickering light. Her fur was very fine and soft on her hands, her long fingers hot against his face. He suppressed the instinctual flinch, the Force abruptly fierce along his spine, in his muscles, telling him to _hold still_ , but not out of fear. She posed no threat to him, not right now. She was a desert coyote, proud and fierce, and was now testing him.

Was he a fellow predator or merely a prey?

He held himself steady without effort, not lashing out but not cowering, either. He may have spent the last few years running and hiding from Imperial forces, but he also knew how to attack, how to survive the hunt and stuck back at his pursuers. The Force gave him instincts and speed to rival a spitsnake, teeth and claws of his own.

He smiled.

She smiled back, her tongue very red behind the sharp teeth, and slowly nodded.

"Perhaps you do not," she allowed, moving back to her original seat. "But the humans living on this planet had long ago named us stupid animals, violent and primitive. Less than human. Easy to hate, easy to kill. That's why I won’t come to the capital. Because I know that they would not talk with me, but merely issue orders and expect us to obey."

"Keentar, that is not true at all," Master Windu protested, leaning forward in a persuasive manner. "True, there is some hostility, mostly due to the recent terrorist attack, but the will to negotiate and achieve a mutually beneficial compromise is stronger than their fear. The Great Cabinet wishes to end this conflict."

"You do not listen to me either, Master Jedi," she shook her head in condemnation. "That is your weakness, your unwillingness to truly listen."

"I am listening," Lukka clenched his hands into his cloak to stop himself from reaching out to her. "And I don’t understand. Yes, the military hates you, but that's not surprising. They aren’t the ones making decisions, though. And the rest of them-"

"The rest of them hate us just as much, if not so overtly," Keentar rebuked, but without any bite. "It has been their attitude towards us for generations. It penetrates their history, their culture, their very language. They do not even notice it anymore, it is so deeply engraved."

"How do you mean?"

"Your teacher is a fine example of their demagogy," she turned towards Master Windu then, her accented voice still calm, but her Force signature coming alive, swirling with long remembered hurts.

"You come to me asking for peace as if it was my alone to grant. As if it was just my ill-intentions or an ill-informed whim that has kept the war going all those years. Oh, but you did not call it a war, did you? To you, it is a conflict, a disagreement, a case of hostilities. Is it merely the negotiator's love of understatements? Or is it that one does not wage war against dumb animals? Yes," she looked into a fire, into past, her voice soft and bitter. "Yes, we know it well. Animals are not to be negotiated with, they are to simply obey. And if not, then there is no war. There is an extermination. Like pests."

"Keentar-"

"The humans have come here many, many generations ago. They have probably forgotten their humble beginnings. But our lives are longer, much longer, our memory better, and we do remember. We remember their promises of peace, of mutually beneficial cooperation, of friendship. Those soon gave way to promises to _let_ us live in peace, to _let_ us observe our _barbarian_ traditions, as long as we keep away, locked away in the wilds, in the forests and mountains, away from their view. But their population kept growing, their cities kept expanding, and our space kept getting smaller and smaller, despite all their promises. And then they discovered their precious mineral, the djaa-mnond, in our mountains, beneath our forests, and we had lost even that… Now we live in a few small parcels of land, poor and ill because of lack of proper nutrition, without any chance to better our lives…"

"Surely-"

"There had been a few of us who wished to enter their world, to live among them, to learn and adapt. They could not."

"Now, Keentar, the Haruun Kal Constitution gives equal rights to all sentient beings, Blimbosh very much included," Master Windu injected with something like offence in his voice, his signature muddled with conflicting emotions.

"Yes, the Constitution, the great charter of liberties and rights… You are right, Master Jedi, it does say such nice things, does it not it? It is all about equality and respect and diversity… It is just, it is well-balanced, and it is dead. My people have their right to life, freedom, and education guaranteed by it, ha! We even have the right to vote. Only not really. You cannot vote without an identifying document issued by the central government, and it is never issued to non-humans. You cannot enter higher education without having finished the basic school, and they do not accept our children because, apparently, they are too wild and violent to let close to delicate human children. You cannot be free if you are not allowed to safely leave your designated living area, not without a permit from the local official, not for any reason."

She sighed and closed her eyes, appearing to Lukka very old and wary in these moments of bitter recollection.

"You cannot live if you are not free, if you cannot better yourself, if you have no say in the future of your own planet. And so we are dying."

Lukka swallowed with difficulty, sensing the absolute truth in her words, the sour fibre of it thick on his tongue, stuck in his throat. The Force was anguished with her resignation, crying out against it, the turbulent waves grating against his exposed senses.

Master Windu shifted slightly and sent him a warning glance.

"Apparently some of your people wish to kill others to even the bargain," he stated seriously. "We were there to witness their attack two days ago. Do you think that murdering civilians will help you change anything, Keentar?"

"No, Master Jedi, I do not," she replied evenly, steel back in her tone. "Nor do I condone such actions, and I certainly did not order them. Those terrorists, whoever they are, are not under my command."

"I thought that you command all of the Blimbosh, Keentar."

"I am their spiritual leader and command their respect. I have never sought their blind obedience. All Blimbosh are free at heart, for to try and change that would be to deny my own nature."

"In the past, you have acted as their political leader as well."

"As their Representative, because they have trusted me with this task."

"And they no longer trust you?"

"Not all of them," she admitted and Lukka could see how much that had cost her, how much that thought had been hurting her. "There are some, young and brash, that believe that it is possible to take back our worlds by force, that we can fight and win against the invaders. They do not listen to my requests and admonishments."

"Perhaps if you were to order them to-"

"And again, you fail to listen, Master Jedi."

"They must be apprehended, Keentar, and their crimes judged and punished," Master Windu's voice brooked no argument.

"Judged by human juries? Yes, I am sure that would be a truly fair trial."

"They did kill forty-three civilians," Lukka injected, thinking back to the (hopefully) final death count. "They could kill more if they are not stopped. And not only humans, but also your own people, those that don't agree with them or try to oppose them."

"I am aware of the dangers, young one," she sighed and looked up, into the bright stars. "As I said, I do not condone their actions and wish to see them stopped. I have already taken certain steps to see it happen."

"Then we hope that those steps bear fruit soon, before the military finds them," Master Windu said. "It is doubtful if they would survive to see a trial. The people's anger and grief run deep."

Keentar smiled slightly but said nothing, the silence growing heavy. After a moment, she stood and added a few logs to the lagging fire, her moves slow and graceful. The flames burst with new strength, filling the air with a pleasant, smoky scent.

Lukka looked at her tired eyes, felt her bright, deep signature in the Force, and came to a decision.

"If we can find them," he started, looking at her intently, "if Master Windu and I can find the attackers before the human militia… If we do and then turn them over to you, or at least ensure that they do have a fair trial… Will you come to the negotiation table then?"

"Apprentice-"

"I doubt you would be able to find them, young one," she said, almost gently. "You know nothing about our planet, about our ways and traditions, and you do not have the reach and connections of the human military."

"Maybe not, but I have the Force as my ally," he leaned towards her, sure now of his course despite the severe displeasure radiating from Master Windu. "If we do find them and turn them to you, will you see them punished? Will you stop them from murdering more innocent beings?"

She looked at him for a disconcerting long moment, then threw a glance at Master Windu's stone face and finally nodded.

"Yes, I would stop them from launching any further attacks."

"And will you come to the capital and talk with the President and the others? I'm not asking you to fold to his demands, just talk and see what happens."

"Young one, they would not listen-"

"You don’t know that," he insisted, pushed forward by the Force's restless whisper. "They may not have listened in the past, but they may now. We will convince them to listen."

"You cannot convince a blind man to see, no more than you can convince a tree to bloom in winter."

"We can try," he gave in and moved closer to her, kneeling by her massive feet, not in supplication but in fervour. "Is it not worth it? Isn’t the future of your people worth at least an attempt?"

She was silent for a long moment, minutes ticking by while she observed him, her sense in the Force swift and clear like a running river. Finally, she nodded.

"Very well," she took his face between her big, deadly, gentle hands. "If you can find and deliver the culprits to me _before_ they hurt anyone else or are tracked down by the military… Or, failing that, if you ensure that they aren’t murdered on sight, but receive a just trial… If you do that, I promise to meet with the human's President at the negotiation table."

He bowed his head, relieved, a bit overwhelmed by the paths suddenly visible in the Force, by the many new futures open to him.

"Thank you, Keentar," he managed. "How should I contact you once I have them? It may be critical to get them into your custody quickly, before others can interfere."

"One of your guides will serve as a contact between us. Do not worry," she added, easily reading his expression "he will not bother you unless he is needed."

"I don’t want to question your judgement, but any Blimbosh would be rather- noticeable in the cities."

"You would be surprised, young man," she smiled a little, a devious thing of teeth and cunning. "We are great hunters."

He nodded, instinctively knowing that it was true, and rose to his feet, taking a few steps away and shooting a look at Master Windu. He remained sitting and stone-faced, but his Force presence told a different story; he was irritated with Lukka, almost angry. Well, as angry as a Jedi Master could be.

Now he rose as well and moved closer, putting a rather restraining hand on Lukka's shoulder.

"My Padawan and I will do our best to help both you and the good people of Haruun Kal, Keentar," he inclined his head, clearly sensing the approaching end of their meeting. "We believe that there can be a peace between your two people. With the help of the Force, we can end this war and allow innocents to sleep without fear once more."

"Both the humans _and_ Blimbosh," Lukka added.

"Thank you," Keentar also rose and touched first Master Windu's hand, then his own. "May you succeed in your endeavour."

She nodded again and gathered her cloak around herself, clearly preparing to depart. Lukka shivered, feeling suddenly cold in the dark night, the fire warmth insufficient without her towering presence to guard its shine. He watched her leave, feeling a bit empty.

She paused briefly just outside the ring of firelight, her shadowed face turning back towards him.

"If you wish to have any chance to succeed, young one, then you should stop calling us Blimbosh," she said, her voice quiet and filled with a strange sense of piety. "It is a name the humans gave us, to describe and belittle us. We have always referred to ourselves as Kham'glinn's."

"Kham'glinn's" he repeated the best he could, slowly and clumsily, inclining his head in thanks. "Thank you. I will remember."

"I know."

She turned away, walking silently toward the dark forest and its welcoming shelter, her Force presence growing calm and content as she was nearing her home.

"Keentar!" Lukka shouted impulsively, taking a few steps forwards, struck by a sudden thought.

There was only silence, but he could still sense her, quiet and watchful among the black trunks.

"What does it mean?" he asked the darkness. "Blimbosh, the name they gave you. What does it mean?"

"It means one that is foreign," came a whispered reply. "A stranger, an alien. They named us outlanders in our own home. But you should know this already."

"Why would I?"

He got no reply, only wind among the trees.

 

***

 

Mace sat and stared at his unruly student over the bright flames.

"You were told to listen and observe, Padawan. To listen and observe _only_ , _not_ to make deals and promises we have no hope of keeping."

Ekkreth looked at him with furrowed brows, the Force around him alive and jubilant, utterly pleased with him.

"We have managed to convince Keentar to give the negotiation a chance while making sure that the terrorists are caught and punished. Frankly, I don’t see a downside, Master Windu."

" _We_ have not done any such thing. _You_ have completely disregarded your instructions and struck a deal that you have no chance of upholding. Nor do you have any jurisdiction to ignore the Haruun Kal government and judiciary system and just hand over the terrorists to Keentar. Provided they even can be found-"

He had to stop. Stop and take a few deep breaths, releasing his turbulent emotions into the Force. He would _not_ lower himself to yelling, not even at his irritating Padawan.

"We can find them," Ekkreth replied with an utter confidence.

"Keentar was right in that aspect, Apprentice. You do not know the planet, nor its political system, nor its realities. We do not have the vast resources of the local military. We have no inside information, nor any chance of gaining it. _How_ do you hope to accomplish anything in such conditions?"

Ekkreth fell silent for a moment, his gaze far away, his back straigh.

"You are right, Master Windu, I don’t even know where to start," he finally admitted without an ounce of shame. "But that's never stopped me before."

"It is not a game, Apprentice! To make a political agreement and then fail to deliver-"

"I won’t fail."

Mace had to stop and stand up, had to move away and pace for a little while, giving went to the excess, aggressive energy gathering in his limbs, in his heart. The Force around him was no help at all, jubilant and excited as it was. It was embracing Ekkreth in a loving, possessive hold, wild and vicious and dangerous. Mace was left outside its embrace, cold and alone, pledged by doubt.

"I won't fail, Master Windu. True, I don’t know much about the local realities, but I know a thing or two about fighting in a resistance. And I have the Force. Isn't that what the Jedi teach? That nothing is impossible with its help?"

"You should pay more attention during Master Fajks'ddolin class, Padawan. The Force is all powerful, but its influence on the living plane is weakened and corrupted by our own defects. It may be invincible, but _you_ are not."

Ekkreth went quiet for a time, looking into the flames, perhaps finally sensing that he had made a mistake. Mace sighed and sat back down, closer to him, ready to accept apologies and offer forgiveness and counsel, already going through some contingencies plans in his mind. Perhaps if they could contact Keentar again-

"Maybe you are right, Master Windu. I'm not invincible. But then again, I don’t need to be," Ekkreth said, his tone even and strong and very much unapologetic. "I just need to be strong _enough_ , clever _enough_. And I can be. I _will_ be."

Mace closed his eyes for a moment, bowing his head in exhaustion.

"You are too stubborn, Apprentice. Too proud, too headstrong. Beware that it does not become your undoing."

The wilful boy sent him a sunny smile.

"Well, if it does, I'm sure you will be nearby to both say _I told you so_ and save my skin, Master Windu."

And Mace was afraid that it was true.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note the UPDATED TAGS.
> 
> A big thank you to my beta, Princessleia9977, and to everyone who took a moment to leave a comment. You guys are great, thanks!

Upon returning to the capital Lukka wasted no time in leafing through the various reports about the recent attack. He had read them before and hadn’t found anything interesting, but there has been a mention or two… His eyes flew through the numbers and the stiff phrases in the military jargon, trying to pin point just what- There!

The investigators had no real lead, no suspects, nothing but their general knowledge about the local terrorist cells and theories, many of them, too many for anyone to check them all out. Luckily, Lukka didn’t need to. His eyes were drawn to one particular report, the phrases almost jumping out-

_'-the perpetuator was of human species, a female in her yearly twenties, closer identification impossible due to state of the remains-'_

_'-none of the leading terrorist organisations had taken responsibility for-'_

_'-the explosive device was homemade, constructed in a rather crude fashion, using widely accessible materials, such as-'_

_'-the usual suspects have been questioned and have denied-'_

_'-punitive searching raids have been carried out in the districts known to be the terrorists recruiting ground, including-'_

Lukka switched the datapad off and leaned back in his seat, closing his eyes to think.

There was no hope of tracking the supply lines if the materials needed were so commonplace, no hope of discovering the dead terrorist's identity and tracking her helpers through her movements, and certainly no hope of just stumbling upon the beings responsible…

The most striking thing about the attack was the fact it had been carried out by a human, not Kham'glinn's, and one fanatical enough to sacrifice her own life. Lukka was familiar with the mindset, but he instinctively felt that there was a difference between fighting and being willing to die in that fight and- and walking into a sun filled street and calmly killing yourself and a bunch of civilians whose only crime was _being there_. On those few occasions when he had held a thermal detonator in his hand he had been terrified, hoping, almost prying that he wouldn't be forced to use it. To take it and go into a crowded boulevard, fully intending to use it… He couldn’t understand it. Who would do it? _Why_ would they do it?

Why had he fought for the Alliance, when it carried an automatic death sentence?

Because he had nothing to lose.

He grimaced at this grim truth, not liking what it said about him, but the Force was insistent, not allowing him to hide. He had left Tatooine on a dangerous mission with a man he had truly met only hours earlier because he had nothing to lose. His family had been murdered, his home burned to the ground… The thought of staying and rebuilding hadn’t even entered his head. He had been too numb, his heart too full of anger and the burning _need_ for revenge to think rationally.

Oh, later he had other reason for fighting, _better_ reasons, his friends and allies counting on him, the future of the galaxy depending on stopping the Empire… But that had come later, only _after_ he had taken the shot that had destroyed the Death Star, only _after_ he had taken his vengeance in the most complete, galaxy-changing manner possible.

He rose abruptly, sick of reminiscing, filled with the need to move, to act instead of thinking uselessly about his past… And fortunately, he knew just what he should be doing.

 

***

 

The cantina was small and rather dirty, located in one of the poorer areas of the city. Lukka slowly nursed his drink, looking glumly into its murky depths. He was tired and impatient, it being the third place he had visited that night, and it hadn’t gotten any more interesting in the last two hours. He would have gladly moved along if not for the Force's stubborn insistence that he _needed_ to stay.

He only hoped that it meant he had finally found the right place.

The small comlink at his belt beeped insistently for a moment, but he ignored it, as he had been doing the whole night. He _really_ didn’t need to hear another lecture from Master Windu right now.

"Shouldn’t you answer? Could've been important."

Lukka glanced at the young man sitting next to him at the bar, noting the athletic build and mended clothes, a small blaster concealed in the jacket and friendly eyes. He smiled and rolled his eyes.

"I'm sure it's no more important than it was the first ten times he called me. He just wanna complain and I'm not in the mood," he replied easily, his Outer Rim accent pronounced.

"No, you don’t look to be in a good mood. What'd happen? Rough day?"

"Rough week," he swilled his drink, grimacing at the strong smell. "Hell, rough month, more like. I'm sick and tired of this kriffing planet."

"You're a long way from home, from the sound of you," the young man was observing Lukka keenly, merely playing with his own glass.

"Well, yeah. Looking for a better life, a better job. Probably not going to find it _here_ , looks like," Lukka shrugged and finished his drink in one gulp, mentioning the bartender for another.

"And what do you do?"

"Me, I'm a mechanic, a damn good one. Not a bad pilot, either."

"And you can't find a job? This whole planet is practically one giant rest stop, there should be tons of work for you."

"Yeah, you'd think so, wouldn't yea? But no one is hiring, not an outworlder, anyway, not with all this kriffing shit going on."

"Ah."

The Force around the two of them was swirling smoothly, an invisible barrier between them and the rest of the patrons, creating a subtle sense of familiarity, of brotherhood. Lukka smiled grimly and edged it a bit more.

"All this political shit ain't no good for business, I tell you. Everyone is jumpy like a virgin in a brothel, no one is hiring and a man's gotta eat. Nah, I need to get outta here while I still have any currency left. Leave and let you all kill one another, if that's what you wanna do."

"That's _not_ what we want to do."

"Looks that way."

"It's a bit more complicated, mate."

"Yeah, sure," Lukka leaned towards his chance companion, holding onto his chair to stop himself from overbalancing. "People go into the street and go _boom!_ Then the kriffing military go into the city and beat the living krap out of poor folk, because hey, maybe they're somehow involved, so why not? Who cares if they hit too hard, if some of us can't take it… So yeah, you go around killing each other. Don't seem too complicated to me."

"Are you hurt?"

Lukka blinked, honestly surprised at the heartfelt concern in the other's voice.

"Nah, ain't nothing serious," he waved his hand, almost spilling his drink in the process, thinking of the few marks from his latest sparring session with Master Windu. "Nothing that won’t mend on its own."

"Nonsense," the young man protested, putting a steading hand on his arm. "If you’re in pain it's only right to get you help. I know someone who can take a look at you."

"I ain't got no currency for shit like that-"

"Don't worry about that, my friend isn't one to take advantage. He helps run a mission in the local district house, he will look you over without asking for anything. And there is always a warm meal and a place to sleep, if you need to get away from your irritating companion for a time."

"Well, I dunno," Lukka hesitated, running his eyes over the stranger. "I know nothing about you. Hell, I don't even know your name!"

"Nimgo Pleck, my suspicious friend," the smile on that young, boyish face was open and inviting, the hand on Lukka's shoulder steady and warm.

"Nimgo," Lukka repeated the (almost certainly) false name, the Force in the air vicious, alive with triumph. "Well, mate, I'm Lucas."

"It's great to meet you, Lucas. But we should really get going, before the military patrols get to this part of the city."

"What, there's some kriffing schedule for raids and beatings in this place?"

"The military likes its discipline," Nimgo smiled as he helped Lukka from his high seat, steading him when he swayed dangerously. "Are you alright to walk for a bit?"

"Yeah, m'fine. Don't ask me to run a race with those kriffing ribs, but I'm fine for walking. But Nimgo," Lukka suddenly grabbed at his companion, feeling the supple muscles under the frayed jacked slave, noting the thin strips of a vibroblade holster. "Nimgo, I like you, you got an honest look about you. But if you try to swindle me, I'm gonna kriffing shoot you."

"I understand," the youth nodded his head seriously, managing to conceal his smile at the outrageous bragging of a drunk. "Thanks for the warning. Now let's go."

They went.

 

***

 

Mace looked up from the newest investigation reports when the door opened and his Padawan walked in. He immediately set the datapad aside and walked to Ekkreth, noticing his civilian clothing and a small blaster clipped to his belt instead of a lightsaber. Just what was he up to?

"Good morning, Master Windu."

"It’s afternoon, Lukka, and there is nothing good about it," he replied, scanning that mulish face for any clues. "Especially not when my Padawan chose to disappear for the whole night in a hostile territory without a word."

"I was investigating-"

"You are not an investigator, Apprentice, you are a Jedi Padawan. All your moves must be approved by me, I need to know where you are and how to contact you!"

"I had my comlink-"

"Which you didn’t answer, not once-"

"There wasn't anything important happening here."

"And how could you know that?"

"The Force would've told me if I was needed here."

Mace studied his student, his face stubborn but not evasive, his sense in the Force calm and self-assured. For Ekkreth it really was that simple, he realised. In times when the Dark Side blinded the greatest Masters of the Order, this young man was standing firm, sure in his connection to the Force, sure that it would steer him right.

Mace quietly envied that conviction.

He sighed and walked away, looking out of the window at the mass of people walking through the courtyard. Life was going on regardless of his doubts and fears. He could merely try and keep on.

"What have you found, Apprentice?"

His Padawan sat down at his abandoned seat, taking a distracted look at the datapad. He seemed strangely well rested for a night spent outside, his skin clean, his scent inoffensive.

"I found a possible point of entry. I need a bit more time, but I'm sure that I can follow the lead to the resistance cell that carried out the recent attack."

"And the lead is?"

"Nothing concrete," Ekkreth replied after a long moment. Mace turned around and looked at him, unimpressed.

"Let me be the judge of that, Padawan."

The young man grimaced, his robot hand clenching and unclenching in a nervous gesture.

"There is a mission in one of the poor districts, handing out the medicine and food, offering shelter, helping out the ones in need."

"And that is suspicious to you? I know little about the Outer Rim, but in the more civilised parts of the galaxy a bit of charity is not anything unusual."

"As you say, Master Windu," Ekkreth sent him a distracted smile, picking up the datapad again. "That's why I said it's nothing concrete. Just a feeling. Any luck on your end?"

Mace sighed again, heading to the small kitchen for some caf. It was going to be a long evening.

 

***

 

"Lucas!" a familiar voice greeted. "Welcome back, I'm glad to see you. How was the job interview? Did you manage to land something?"

"Hi, Anngie," he greeted back, friendly but uncomfortable, his hands jammed deep in his jacket pockets. "Nah, not really, the bas- the guys there were looking for someone with more experience. Can't do nothing about my age."

He shrugged and tried to smile, if only to remove the frown from that old, gentle face.

"I'm terribly sorry to hear that," Anngie walked closer and laid a warm, friendly hand on his shoulder. Her voice and Force sense both said she was sincere. "I had hoped that they would take you in that shipyard."

"It's fine."

"It's going to be," she consoled him, gently leading him inside, into a flowering garden. "At least you still have some free time to help us with the kindergarten project. The children really like you, Lucas, and we appreciate your help."

"At least someone does…" he murmured.

"Is your uncle still giving you a hard time?"

"Don't know how to do anything else, I don’t think," he agreed, the immobile face of Master Windu flashing before his eyes. "But it's fine, no big deal. I just wish he would see that I _am_ trying."

"That's all we can do in this life, just try and do what we believe is right. I'm sure he'll see it one day. And in the meanwhile, there are so many here that believe in you, Lucas," she smiled at him. " _I_ believe in you. I know that you'd always do what is right."

"Thanks," he smiled back and then there were young voices demanding his attention, asking for a story or a play, and he had no more time to wonder.

He had been coming to the mission for the last two weeks, getting to know the people running it, learning what they were doing, often contributing his time and receiving warm meals and even warmer attention in return. It was an addicting sensation, finding a small packet of peace and sinking into it, being involved, accepted.

If not for the Force reminding him of his purpose, of the _hunt,_ whispering of _bait_ and _lies_ and _manipulation,_ he would have been in real danger. He was grateful for the constant reminder, even if it made him uncomfortable in his own skin, like a poisonous glifox pretending to be a bantha.

He came as often as possible, worming his way into the organisation, subtly spreading the Force to gain their confidence easier and much quicker then was usual. He knew he wasn't the best of liars, never had been, so he kept as much of himself true as possible. He was a young man seeking his place in life, alone but for an uncle who didn’t like him much, amiable but lost and a bit angry, willing to make new friends. And he adored children.

By the time the gong for dinner sounded, he had told three stories, sang (badly) a funny song, had been used as a pony and a dragon and was just about to fall on his face. The kids were wonderful, but they demanded his whole attention and _a lot_ of energy to keep them entertained.

"That's enough, children," Klindo, another volunteer, had to rise his voice to be heard over the excited babble. "It’s time for you to go home and then have some dinner."

"Aww, but-"

"No buts, Amblin," Lukka smiled at the little girl. "Your older brother must already be waiting for you. And we can finish our play tomorrow."

"Alright," she sighed in a manner befitting a young martyr.

Once the children had been collected by their guardians (often siblings, cousins or just friends of the family; many parents were either dead, missing or working in other, more affluent systems), Lukka and Klindo joined the other volunteers and the elders for dinner. It was a communal meal, with all of them sitting around big bowls of tasty food and talking, sharing their day, laughing and just being happy for a moment.

After dinner some of the younger helpers left to deal with the cleaning while the elders took more comfortable positions. They lightened their kahashi, small instruments full of herbs, so unlike the stinking deathsticks, and soon the air around them was rich with the gentle smoke and lilting tales.

Lukka sat and listened attentively.

"-then Maurccy took her hand and led her to his elders, asking their blessing for their union. But the elders knew that she was one of the-"

"-young Glimgish cried bitter tears over his fallen father, promising justice upon humans that had slain him-"

"-he walked into the sunrise towards his doom, unafraid, taking courage in the fact that the dreaded Fluu'nghi would perish with him and free his people-"

"-they asked for peace, but Duundi, who was old and cunning and a dancer of the winds, knew that no peace with them was possible. Does a wolf become brother with a jun-lamb? Does a spitsnake welcome a mouse into its lair? No, the wise Duundi-"

Lukka sat and listened.

 

***

 

Lieutenant Nenno Glimg was struggling to keep his impatience from being blindingly obvious, but he really wasn't cut out to be a diplomat. Then again, if what they said about Jedi was true, no amount of pretence was going to help.

"As I have said before, sir, I am not at liberty to discuss any ongoing operations," he replied during yet _another_ kriffing update meeting.

"I understand the need for secrecy," Master Mace Windu replied from his seat behind the briefing table, "but surely there is no harm in telling us if you have made any progress in identifying the attackers. We are hardly asking for sensitive information, nor are we going to share it with the public."

Nenno kept his face smooth with an effort of will, his irritation buzzling behind his eyes. His time would be better spend helping his comrades in the field, rather than being stuck in those kriffing offices, playing nanny. The industrial lightening painted everything in a sickly greenish shade, making the room seem even less real, no more important than a dream.

"The reports delivered to you this morning contained all the information that we can reveal," he said _yet again._ "The finer details are classified. They fall under the protection act of the-"

"How is the torture going?"

Startled, he turned sharply and looked at the other Jedi, a student, lounging against a wall.

"Excuse me?"

"How is the torture going?" the young man repeated calmly, as if Nenno really could have had misheard. "Or the enhanced interrogation or whatever nice little euphemism you guys are using. Any luck with getting information that way?"

"You must have been misinformed, sir," he replied tensely, "our armed forces are part of the Kashini Convention and as such we do not-"

"Hey, I wasn't criticising," the student smiled at Nenno, open and seemingly relaxed. "Everyone does it, and you've got to have _some_ way of gathering useful info. I'm not judging."

"Regardless of your personal views, sir, I must stress that we do not torture our detainees. Any attempt to claim otherwise will result in decisive actions being taken by our Foreign Ministry," he added, looking back at the Jedi Master. The older man nodded his head in understanding but made no move to restrain his student.

"Yeah, I'm sure that your Foreign Minister can send a sharply worded note to the Jedi Council," the infuriating man moved closer to Nenno, all smile and friendliness and unnatural grace. "But come on, we both know what's going on-"

"Your accusations are baseless and-"

"And true," the smile abruptly vanished, the student now no more than a meter away from Nenno. He shouldn't be intimidating, not with his short stature and young face, but Nenno still found himself taking a step back.

He swallowed past his suddenly dry throat and tried to regroup.

"You have no proof-"

"I don’t need one," came the sharp retort. "I _know_ you are lying to me right now, the Force all but stinks with your cowardly lies. And even if I couldn't feel your deception, your _fear_ , I'd have to be blind to miss the raids of your military."

"The searching missions-"

"They are extracting missions. Or killing raids, when you can't manage to get your suspect alive. And they have been so many of them, so very widely spread immediately after the attack. Now they are precise, safer for you and much deadlier to your targets. Do you want to tell me that you have just magically divided the precise locations of possible terrorist cells? Or are you getting info from your detainees, using whatever means necessary?"

"Fuck you," Nenno spat, angry and humiliated and yes, afraid of the slight man before him and all the more furious because of it. "Fuck you and your high horse, you've got no idea-"

"No idea how to torture civilians? How to-"

"They are no civilians! There _are no_ civilians in this war!"

The student finally took a step back, his face tight and arrogant and Nenno couldn't stand to look at it for another second.

"There are no civilians in this war," he said again, trying to keep the tremble from his voice, from his clenched fists, the anger hot and alive inside him. " _They_ have made sure of it! Every passer-by, everyone outside your unit can be a threat, a mother with a child and be carrying a bomb instead, an elder can be strapped to a suicide vest. Every _civilian_ can be a fanatic ready to kill you and everyone around, _including_ other civilians!"

Civilians like his mother and younger brother, caught by a blast in a shuttle-

"They place their operation centres under schools, inside hospitals, next to kindergartens and make aerial strikes impossible. Every step forward is paid by in blood and death-"

-they had to be identified by their dental records, their bodies burned beyond recognition, gods his little Nammo-

"-So don’t you come here and try to judge us! Don’t try to-"

"I'm not. I'm not judging."

Nenno swallowed down the rest of the tirade bubbling in his throat, the righteous release of it turning sour and cold in his stomach. In the sudden silence he could hear his own loud panting, the fluorescent light buzzling, the distant sounds of the city. The two Jedi were silent and stone-faced.

Fuck. He shouldn’t have said that. He _really_ shouldn't have said _any_ of that…

"I'm not judging you," the younger Jedi repeated. "I just want access to the information you've managed to get."

"Sir-"

"I would think very carefully about what you are about to say, soldier," the older Jedi warned, standing up and walking closer to him, uncomfortably close. "You have just admitted to committing and abetting several very serious crimes, including targeting non-combatants and _torturing_ your detainees. While my Padawan may not be judging you, be assured that the Galactic Senate and the public opinion _will._ "

"Sir-"

"Make no mistakes, there _are_ going to be consequences, and if the next words out of your mouth are not _yes sir, straight away sir,_ these consequences will start right now. With you."

Nenno gritted his teeth, feeling furious, frustrated tears gather in his eyes and hating them, hating the Jedi and their fucking _help-_

"Yes sir. Straight away, sir."

 

***

 

"You are not judging them, Padawan?"

Lukka looked up from the datapad to send Master Windu a questioning look, slightly grateful for the distraction. The material was certainly informative. Very gruesome, enough to leave a slim film of revulsion along his fingers, but informative. Still, it was late, and he could do with a break. He leaned back in the uncomfortable chair and blinked, his eyes feeling gritty and overtired.

"You have told that young soldier that you were not judging their methods," Master Windu repeated, rubbing his own eyes. "How can you not, when their methods include _this?_ "

Lukka grimaced, no longer grateful at all.

"You're always telling me about remaining above any emotional entanglements and not letting my preconceived notions distract me from our mission. I listen, Master."

The look Master Windu sent him could be used as a dictionary definition of 'unimpressed scepticism' _._

"While I am delighted to hear that," the Jedi Master sounded anything _but_ as he meandered to the drinking cabinet for some of the local caf, "I have never known you to be particularly flexible when it comes to morals and what you consider right and just. Nor to tolerate anything you deem _un_ just."

"What can I say, Master Windu? I'm growing," he shrugged lightly, trying for the casual and wide-eyed innocent, and probably missing it by lightyears, but stars, he _really_ didn’t want to go there.

"You can start by telling me the truth, Apprentice. For the novelty of it, if nothing else."

It shouldn’t have stung. He knew better than to let Master Windu get to him, to expect anything other than his distrust and probing, even if he had recently started thinking, hoping really, that maybe, just maybe-

It didn’t matter what he had thought. He knew better.

"But you value tradition so much, I would hate to deprive you of any comfort."

"The thought of my Padawan condoning and possibly participating in _torturing sentient beings_ is not _comforting_ , apprentice."

"What?!"

He blinked at the other man, honestly surprised.  Where had that even come from? What-

His obvious shock seemed to reassure Master Windu somewhat. He came closer and leaned against Lukka's desk, looming and not letting him get away from the conversation.

"You are not judging the militia. They need some way to gather information. _Everyone does it._ "

"I didn’t mean _me!_ "

"Then why the sudden indifference?"

"Inddif-"

Lukka almost chocked.

"It's not _indifference_ ," he insisted after a few deep breaths. "It's just that-"

It's just that he had gone through it all before.

He _used to be_ wide-eyed and innocent to the realities of fighting a war, even after losing his friends, his _family,_ to it. His status as the Hero of Yavin, the Destroyer of the Death Star, and the following rebel propaganda had offered him even more protection from the more repugnant side of it. But even he couldn’t have had remained naïve forever, despite the best efforts of his friends.

It had been Han, of all people, who had found him after he had stormed off from that briefing. Han, always loudly declaring his independence and not-caring, who had tracked him down to the hidden spot in the forest concealing their temporary base. Han, the self-proclaimed cynic and scoundrel, who sat down with him on the moisty grass, put an arm around his heaving shoulders and talked him down from leaving all-together.

_'Yeah, it sucks. But where did you think all that intel come from? Yeah, some of it is from deflectors and paid informants and other scums, but come on, kid… Not everyone is like you, all ready to get yourself killed for a cause and, even worse, for free. Yeah, it's not the same, I know. Well, that's what you get for playing at being a hero and fighting a glorious revolution, junior. It can’t be all medal ceremonies and pretty princesses all the time.  Some of it's bound to get ugly. Yeah, I hear you. Yeah, it is kriffing not right, and it's disgusting and sick and boy, most of those slimballs getting that info are no better than the Imps. But the point is, they get that info. The info that means we can outfly and outsmart the other guys, that means you know where to fire a torpedo to destroy a kriffing Death Star. So, let's just be happy we've got that info and that we don’t havta get it. And no, you aren't telling Her Worshipfulness I called her pretty, junior, don’t you dare!"_

Lukka didn’t like it anymore now than he had then, but he hadn’t liked a lot of things about the war, about the ugly truths it had shown him and impossible choices it had put before him.

_'Besides, kid, let's be honest: if one of your friends were taken by the Imps and the guy locked to a chair before you had their location, but refused to talk… If you knew that this friend was gonna be killed in the morning, and this kriffing Imp wasn't telling you anything… Well, I don’t know about you, but I sure as hell wouldn’t stop at asking nicely to get you back."_

Stars, he missed Han. He missed _them all_ so much it _hurt_ sometimes, deep inside him, along his bones, below his ribs. Some days he could almost forget, could almost pretend, and then-

"Apprentice?"

And then he would get a reality check.

"No, Master Windu," he murmured tiredly, pointedly looking back at his datapad. "I don’t approve, and I've _never_ participated, but no, I'm not judging them. You're doing enough of that for us both."

 

***

 

"Lukas, Klindo, could you come over here for a moment? I could use an extra hand."

"Sure thing."

They left the pile of half-pealed green potatoes for Hass'dh to finish and followed Anngie out of the communal kitchen, into the dimness of the narrow corridors. At the back entrance there was an ungainly shape, leaning upon the side of the house, looking almost like-

"Ninna? Stars, what happened? Are you-"

"Help me get her inside," Anngie interrupted, looking around anxiously. "We need to get her to the healing room, quickly. And without the children noticing."

"They're outside playing catch, wouldn’t notice a planet-wide invasion," Lukka replied automatically, even as he gingerly grasped a thin arm, wary of hurting Ninna even more. "What's happened to her?"

"Later, Lucas."

Later turned out to be over three hours afterwards. There were more important things that needed doing first, like getting Ninna somewhat cleaned up and settled into a narrow med-bed, fetching the local doctor and contacting Ninna's husband. Her daughter, a precocious five-years-old, had somehow got the wind of the incident and it took a long while to calm her down, her anguish and incomprehension echoing through the Force, leaving Lukka feeling exhausted and lost himself.

"It's those be-damned military bastards," Klindo muttered for the twentieth time, his young face tight, the short feelers on his forehead drawing down. "They must've caught her alone-"

"It's not yet the curfew time."

"Like they're gonna care about that? No way, not when they catch a young, pretty girl like Ninna-"

"Klindo, please don't-"

"It's not like it's the first time. I've seen some of their other victims, those that _survived_ , anyway-

"Shut your trap," Lukka snapped quietly. "I can hear someone coming."

Someone turned out to be Anngie, shoulders bend, nodding at them and silently leading them to an empty recreational room, shutting the door tightly. Luke sat down at a student desk, its small size and the room's cheerful colours making the moment feel strangely unreal.

"How is she?" he asked quietly.

"She's going to live. She will need a lot of time and rest, but she'll pull through."

Thanks be the Force.

"It was the military, wasn't it?" Klindo practically demanded, briefly stopping his relentless pacing. Lukka had no idea where he got the energy for it.

"Ninna hasn’t been conscious long enough to say much, but yes, from what we can gather, it was the military."

"Those bast-"

"But why?" Lukka spoke over the angry raving. "We know Ninna, she didn't do nothing wrong. Why would they…"

"Because they're bloody bastards who think that no one will ever kick them in-"

"Because some people like the taste of power," Anngie replied calmly enough, taking his hand in her own rough one, her gentle hold comforting. "Because they believe that having power makes them unstoppable, above the normal moral considerations. Because they see a young woman and think that no one will care what happens to her."

"I care."

"I know you do, that you both do. You are good boys and I'm sorry I had to involve you. Now, I need your promise that you won’t go talking about tonight. Ninna deserves more than that."

"Of course," Lukka nodded. "You didn’t havta ask."

"But what's going to happen now?"

"We'll need to make sure that Ninna and her family is taken care of," Anngie turned to Klindo, tracking his progress around the classroom with tired eyes. "She'll need time off to recover. They'll most likely fire her, and Flishg's income won't be enough. She may need more meds and some counselling, definitively, and-"

"What's going to happen to those kriffing _skelms_ who attacked her!"

The woman sighed, rubbing her eyes. Lukka had never thought about her as old before, despite her grey hair and wrinkled face, but now, for the first time, she seemed old. Old and tired and terribly sad.

"Nothing. There's nothing that can be done, you know that."

"There must be _something_ we can do," Klindo insisted.

"The military has its own internal supervision system, they don’t allow outsiders to interfere. Even if we knew _who exactly_ attacked Ninna, no accusation would ever reach their supervisors or be taken seriously. They are power undo themselves. I'm sorry, Klindo, but there's nothing that we can do."

The young Feundhiogd restored to cursing in his native language, his anger and helplessness radiating through the Force like a hot wind, harsh and tasking of old bones. Lukka moved his jaw with difficulty, all his muscles tense with the echoing desire to _do something._ Anything.

"Please," he murmured, very deliberately keeping his own tone quiet and sombre. He knew that no commander liked or trusted excitable soldiers. "You told me time and again to do what I believe is right. Well, it can't be kriffing right to let them go _unpunished_. They'll just do it again. And again, and again, and we can't just _let them._ "

"Lucas-"

"Lucas is right, we've got to _stop them!_ We've got to protect ourselves."

"You're the boss here, everyone in the community know and trust you. They'd follow you, they look up to you," now it was Lukka who took her hand in both of his, feeling her strength. "And you've got the responsibility towards them. Who will protect them, if not you?"

"That's unfair, Lucas, and you know that."

"Maybe," he shrugged, the Force pushing him along the path that suddenly was as clear and obvious as any hyperlane. "But it's the truth, and _you_ know that."

She just looked at him and Klindo, two young men filled with righteous anger and the burning desire to act. Finally, she sighed and nodded.

"There's something you might be able to help me with."

 

***

 

 _Something_ turned out to be delivering a mysterious package to a run-down house in another district. He was equally excited and nervous, barely stopping his _glinndi_ from swinging, but it all went smooth. He asked the young human female at the door for the password, handed her the small package and left, while Lucas was standing at the lookout at the opposite corner. No troubles, no fuss.

Honestly, he was a bit disappointed with how smoothly it went, almost hoping for a confrontation with those blasted military _skuurisyn'ami,_ but Lucas was right, they couldn’t afford to draw any attention to themselves. Especially not when they were given another package to deliver, and another, and then another.

For the next ten sun-cycles Lucas and he were rarely apart, travelling through the capital, then to other cities, to a hidden warehouse by the docks, to a local bakery… They visited both abandoned places and homely, familiar spots, meeting new beings, sharing a password, a glance, a meaningful smile, a story over a cup of caf. The world outside those runs became distant, like a foggy memory, all his senses wholly alive and occupied with the _now_.

"Klindo, are you sure about this?" Lucas asked him one evening as they were driving from their latest drop point, his voice distorted over the comlink, a humid wind whipping around them.

"What do you mean?"

"Are you sure you wanna do this? That it's the right thing to do?"

"Sure," he replied instantly, nodding against the human's back. "Aren’t you?"

Lucas bent to the right, taking the scooter into a sharp turn, then down into an underground fast-line. He didn’t answer.

"You wanted to help, you convinced Anngie to let us help," Klindo pointed out, wishing he could see the other's face.

"Yeah, I know. I just thought we would be doing something more, I dunno-"

"More daring? Dangerous? More important?" he guessed, voicing some of his own early misgivings. "Don’t you worry, we've just started helping out. I don’t think they trust us that much yet, but they will, once we've proven ourselves. And then it'll get more exciting."

His skin tingled at the thought, a pleased smile stretching his face, safely hidden by the riding helmet. Oh, just give them some time and they'll do more, do _better_ , they'll even the odds a little…

"It's plenty exciting for me now," Lucas muttered over the intercom as they left the suburbs and merged with the northern highway. "We have no kriffing idea what's in those packages."

"Probably medicine," he offered. "Or maybe some info, _true_ info about what's going on, no that blasted gov's propaganda, I mean. Or maybe even some tech and spare parts-"

"Yeah. Spare parts for what?"

"I don't know, a spaceship? To take us all away from that entire kriffing mess? A big, fast spaceship, all pink, 'cause I know how you love that colour," he sniggered at the mental image.

Lucas was silent for a long moment before he spoke again, his back grown taunt under Klindo's hands.

"What if it's something bad? What if- what if we are helping to build another suicide bomb?"

Klindo chirped in surprise.

"That's a damn cheerful idea you've got there, mate."

"Yeah, but what if I'm _right_?"

"Then you're right," he shrugged. "What do you want, Lucas, a pat on the back for a good guess?"

"You don't mind that we're helping to _kill people?_ "

"Those _people_ sure wouldn't mind killing _me_ ," he snapped right back. "They didn't mind treating me like dirt just because I don’t _look_ like them! Never mind that I was born here, on this shithole of a planet, I've been spat on my entire life, 'cause I'm obviously not one of them! And I'll never become one of them, no matter what I do. Kriff, Lucas…"

He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to calm down, to stop squeezing the young human's middle so tight.

"I understand."

"No, you don't."

How could he? Lucas was a nice enough guy, friendly and open, but he was obviously a true wonderer, one of those star-born travellers of the galaxy. He had never had his home raided by soldiers, had never been beaten, humiliated, day after day, simply because he was a bit different from the human population. He had no idea...

"I'm sorry."

"Kriff, no, it’s not your fault. It's nothing."

"I didn't mean to upset you. I just…"

"Just what?"

Lucas didn’t answer straight away, instead taking the upturn, out of the fast lane and into one of the rest areas, a small space tucked between the tall warehouses. Klindo didn’t waste any time taking off his helmet and climbing off the speeder, grateful for a chance to straighten his limbs.

"Stars, I hate those kriffing things, way too small for me," he grumbled, his voice almost lost in the distant roaring of the lane below them.

"Klindo."

He turned to look at Lucas, his _glinndi_ lifting in silent question.

"Klindo, you-" Lucas paced a few steps back and forward, his left hand running through his hair. "You are my friend, you know that, right?"

Now, that was interesting. He smiled teasingly at the flustered human.

"Aww, Lucas… I like you too. But I won’t put out until after the wedding, so-"

"No! No, I- Shut up. Kriff, you're irritating."

"And here I thought you cared. That I'm your friend."

"Sometimes I wonder why," Lucas muttered before straightening, his face turning serious. "But yeah, I consider you my friend. And I don’t want anything bad to happen to you."

"Well, that's good," he said slowly, wondering where Lucas was going with all this build up. "I don’t wanna anything bad to happen to me either."

"And something bad is gonna happen, soon. Not necessarily to you," the human hurried to add, "Just - I know that something big, something _bad,_ is coming, and I don't wanna you to get caught up in it."

"No, come on, Lucas, it's- we're all on edge, but-"

"No, you're not listening to me! It's not nerves, or jitters, or whatever you wanna call it, ok? I know nerves and I know _this_ , and believe me, there's a hell of a difference."

"And how exactly do you _just know_ that something is going to happen?" he asked slowly, an ugly suspicion growing in his heart, but surely no-

"I doesn’t matter, I just do, alright? Just trust me on this."

Surely not Lucas…

"The thing is, I don’t know what or when," the human continued, now pacing before Klindo, his every move a nervous jerk, "so, it’s hard to prepare for it. But I'm sure it's going to be soon, and I don't wanna you to get hurt."

"That's a bit vague and sounding more like a raving of a kriffing madman than any useful info, I hope you realise that."

"I wish I could be more specific, believe me, but _the point_ is that I don’t wanna you to be caught in the crossfire."

"That's heart-warming, Lucas, it really is," he muttered, feeling a shudder running down his limbs, hot and strange, his muscles tensing-

"I get that you are invested in the movement, I do, but-"

"But what?" he barked, nerves making his tone more snappish than intended.

"But I know you," the human looked at him with those kriffing blue eyes of his, all big and innocent. "I know you and I _know_ that you aren't a bad person, that you don’t really wanna hurt anyone. I can help you, I can get you out while there's still time."

Kriffing-

"What?"

"I know some people, alright? I can help you get out of this, disappear for a bit. Make sure you'll be safe from any persecution, you and your family both," Lucas went right back to pacing, his left hand making his hair even messier than usual. "Not that's really necessary, you haven't really done anything yet. Well, not anything that falls under the criminal laws, so you should be-"

Klindo took a steading breath and raised his blaster, quickly setting the charge for 'stun'. The sound of the safety being pulled off seemed very loud.

"-fine."

Lucas turned to him slowly, suddenly still, silent, empty arms held loosely at his sides.

"Klindo, what…?"

"Shut up," he ordered, trying to hold onto the anger, to keep the waiver out of his voice. "Hand me your blaster, _slowly_ , and shut up."

"Wh-"

"Shut UP! Or I swear to _glsonds_ , I will stun you and carry you back like a sack of potatoes! Just- just give me your blaster. Now!"

Slowly, achingly slowly, Lucas did as ordered, throwing his blaster at Klindo's feet. He picked it up quickly, trying his best to keep his eyes on the human at the same time. Kriff, what now, what was he supposed to do now? What a kriffing mess…

 "What now?" the human echoes his doubts. "What the hell are you doing?"

"I'm escorting a traitor back to the mission," he decided on the spot. This was way too big for him. "There the command can decide what to do with you."

"Traitor?" a look of dismay crossed those youthful features, so friendly, so seemingly open… "I'm not a traitor! Klindo-"

"Right. What do you prefer, then? An agent? A double agent? Kriffing hell, Lucas!" he erupted. "I trusted you! I kriffing trusted you! We all did! And you-"

"And I've done nothing to betray that trust!"

"Oh, yeah?" he laughed, because that was just too kriffing much. "So, you just _happen to know_ that _something bad_ is going to happen soon? And you wanna get me out? 'Cause you _know some people_?"

"I'm trying to help you!"

"Yeah, and what would I have to do for that help? Become a spy like you? Serve the government or my family would, I don’t know, face persecution? A big word for you, Lucas, where have you picked it up?"

"Klindo, it's not like that."

"Shut the kriffing hell up!" he shouted, feeling stupid, useless tears pool in his eyes. Stupid, so damn stupid.

"Klindo, please…"

"The only reason I haven't stunned your ass by now is because it's damn hard to transport a luggage on the speeder, but if you don't shup up right this second I will do it! I'll stun you and just hope you don’t crack your skull open along the way!"

"You don't want to hurt me," the human said, suddenly calm, his voice deeper, echoing, reaching inside…

"I don’t want to hurt you," he agreed, because he didn’t, despite everything.

"You trust me. I'm your friend."

"I trust you," he nodded, slower this time, because this wasn't right, this wasn't… "You- you are…"

This wasn't right, there was something _inside_ him-

"I'm your friend. You trust me."

Something alien and _wrong_ , wedging into his brain, splitting cold, _slithering_ \- It was in his brain, under his skin, _moving his mouth-_

"You are my friend. I trust you."

No, that wasn't right, what was happening, _why?_ It was all wrong, and he couldn't- couldn't- That _thing w_ as everywhere now, relaxing his muscles, lowering his arms, biting cold and strong, so strong, he couldn't-

Someone help him! Someone, anyone, please- help him-

"Hand me your blaster."

His arm rose obediently, a block of marble, the blaster held loosely in dead things that used to be his fingers. The traitor took a step closer, about to take the weapon, he would use it, he would _kill_ Klindo with it- and he couldn't even-

But he _must_ , if he wanted to live-

The last effort, a shock running through his limbs-

The blaster went off.

It didn’t hit the traitor, his aim was way off, but suddenly he could think clearly, could _move_ \- He steadied the blaster and fired again, and again, and again, headless of anything but the fear and the burning need to _annihilate_ this human-sharped thing before him- He shot again, a shout tearing from his throat-

Then the blaster was wrenched from his hand by- Not by the traitor, he had retreated a good distance away, still somehow standing, still dangerous, and now _something_ invisible had stolen Klindo's blaster, his only weapon-

Not his only weapon.

His hand found the emergency comlink at his belt in a heartbeat, frantic fingers scrabbling to get the connection going, he needed help, he needed to warn the others- A burst of static and then a thin voice saying:

"Unit two-seven-one, what is-"

"Lucas! Lucas is-"

-a traitor, he had meant to say, to warn, but the words suddenly wedged in his throat, too big and chunky to get past his clenched teeth, he couldn’t breathe- That cold and alien thing was back, reaching deep inside, behind his eyes, into his veins, deeper still, slimy and wrong and _unstoppable_ \- Help, oh no please help- No resistance was possible, it was _everywhere_ , it was- it was-

_snap_

"Unit two-seven-one, what is your status? Do you copy? What is your status? Unit two-seven-one, do you- Damn it all, what’s happening? Lucas _what_?"

"Lucas is my friend," the being that used to be Klindo, son of Klinba, replied obediently, saying the only thing it was certain of. "Lucas is my friend. I trust him."

  

***

 

Anngie wasn't one for cursing, but the present situation was testing even her calm.

"What the hell happened, Lucas? What's wrong with him?"

Klindo was lying on the narrow bed-med in a far corner, a medic bent over him, while Lucas stood before her looking like he should be the one looked after. For all there was no blood on him and no significant damage, she had seen crash victims who looked better.

"I don’t know, I- We were attacked and he-"

"Take a deep breath," she instructed, stuck anew b they knowledge just how young the other was. He didn’t seem young, they never did, until some crisis stripped them off their cynical armour and their inexperience, their _innocence,_ became readily apparent. She felt ancient in comparison.

"Come, sit. Take a moment. Here, have a drink of water, slowly. Calm, now," she kept murmuring soothingly, lowly, her voice and a touch of her hand on the boys arm an anchor. "Deep breaths, yes, good. Now, you say you were attacked. Before or after making the drop?"

"After," Lucas replied after a moment, still visibly shaken but making an effort, staring at his clasped hands, a dark and light jigsaw puzzle in his lap. "We made the drop with no problem, we were on our way back and, we stopped for a moment-"

"Why?"

"To take a pi- to rest a moment," she could have smiled at the way he tried to censor himself, still that ungainly youth of too much anger and too little grace. "At one of the rest stops along the speedway. We were talking, there was no one else there, and then- I didn't see them, I had no idea they were there, or I would never-"

"I know, Lucas, I know," she gentled. "Who were they?"

"I don’t know. The shoots came from upside, from one of the warehouses, I couldn’t see the shooters, and we had no cover… I didn’t notice Klindo taking a hit, he was just suddenly on the ground, and they were still shooting-"

"It's a miracle they didn't get you as well," she probed a little, just to be sure…

 "I was hiding behind the speeder," he admitted, sounding tortured, ashamed. "Klindo was farther away, and he's bigger than me, I guess he made an easier target, I don’t know, I just- I just waited until there was a lull in the shooting and then got the hell out of there, I just snatched Klindo and ran away…"

"As you should have," she cut him off firmly. "You were obviously outnumbered, facing an unknown opponent and with a comrade down. Retreating was the right choice."

"It didn't feel like it," Lucas almost whispered, still avoiding her eyes, the silly child. "It felt like running away."

"Sometimes, running away _is_ the right choice, if it means you get to live and fight another day."

Yes, she thought sadly as his eyes finally rose at the mention of fighting, a burning, hard sort of blue, a silly child indeed, filled to the brim with the things that children should be kept well away from, in an ideal world.

"Well, I'm afraid that's it," the medic interrupted, coming up to them, his wrinkled face twisted in a grimace. "I've done all I could for the poor sod. The rest is up to him and the gods."

"What's wrong with him?" Lucas practically demanded, almost leaping to his feet. "Why is he- like that?"

 _Like that_ , she mused, seemed like a fitting euphemism, for a state as puzzling and eerie as young Klindo's.

"Well, the obvious culprit is the head wound along the left temporal bone," the medic grumbled. "The blow, while not particularly strong, must have compounded with a pre-existing dysfunction or an unknown variable, to have caused such a- singular state."

"What do you mean, Ossi? And please, no med-speak," she waved her hand, weary beyond belief. "You know not all of us attended medical university. Speak plainly, for goodness sake."

The old grouch cast her an evil eye before nodding, taking a seat in Lucas' abandoned chair, all his years showing in his creaking bones. He was getting old, she though not for the first time, we are all getting old and tired. Too old to keep this fight going.

"Plainly speaking," Ossi sighted, "the patient's state make no sense. He appears to have lost all his memories, short and long term both. He doesn’t know the date, where he is or even his own name. He retains the general knowledge an adult of his species should have, like how to feed himself and to avoid defecating in his bed, and he knows _you_ ," he nodded at Lucas, standing silent and pale next to their seats.

"He knows your name and he's adamant that he can trust you," Ossi continued. "Yet he doesn’t recall how you look or where you had met, nor anything else about your shared history. Nor his own, or anything else."

"Will he get better?" Lucas asked, his hands clenched tightly by his sides.

"It’s impossible to say. He may regain his memories, some or all of them, or he may not. If he doesn't, he'll need specialised aid to live," Ossi looked at her with raised eyebrows and she bit back a sight of her own. Specialised aid would mean a drain of resources and personnel they could hardly afford, yet to leave one of their own without any help…

"What? Why?" Lucas sounded truly wretched, poor boy. "You said he still had the general knowledge, surely he will be fine? In time?"

"General knowledge of an adult of his species will not be enough, young man, not by a long shot. It'll stop him from putting his hand in the fire and prompt him to eat when hungry, in time it may even help him to relearn how to cook. But it won’t tell him who his friends and enemies are, it won’t stop him from giving strangers his currency when they ask for it, it won’t stop him from spending the whole day sitting and staring at a blank wall, should the mood strike him… He may still have the most basic of knowledge, but the memories that made him who he was, his inner self, so to speak… These are gone. And I'm uncertain if they will ever return."

She closed her eyes for a moment, saddened again by Klindo's tragedy, by the desolate slope of Lucas' shoulders. Children and old fools, the lot of them, playing games they could ill afford to lose.

She allowed herself a moment of self-pity before forcibly straightening. Old fool she may be, but she would be damned before she was weak on top of that.

"That's unlike you, Ossi," she murmured, pushing a glass of caf closer to him. "You're usually more definite in your diagnoses."

"Well, yes," he sighed with a grateful sip. "But then the situation is usually more clear-cut than this. To be entirely honest, I have no idea what the hell happened to that young man."

"What do you mean? I thought that the blow to his head…"

"While troubling, as all head wounds are, it was neither deep nor serious enough to cause such a comprehensive memory loss. The temporal bone was cracked but not broken, there was no swelling, no internal bleeding, I've detected no intra-nerve damage… There must have been a pre-existing condition of some sort, perhaps a genetic mutation or a childhood injury, badly healed… It's impossible to say."

"I see. Well, thank you for your time and help, my friend," she nodded and looked towards Lucas, still worryingly silent by the wall, as far as possible from the med-bed. "Lucas-"

She had to stop for a moment, stop and stare, because, gods, that face-

"Lucas-" she tried again, forced the sound past a suddenly tight throat and numb lips, past the buzzing in her ears. "Lucas, dear, are you alright?"

He looked at her with remote eyes, face pale and drawn, jaw tight, the air around them strange, almost swirling, smelling of a coming rain. He looked nothing like that naïve, optimistic boy who had first come to her mission.

"No," he croaked, taking a step away, turning away towards the door, and she could finally breathe easily. "No, I'm not _alright,_ nothing about this is alright!"

"Lucas-"

"It's my fault."

"Lucas, stop it," she managed to sound sterner this time, rising quickly and grabbing his wrist before he could leave the med-centre, shoulders hunched, still facing away from her.

"Do you know who did this?" he asked, practically demanded. "Do you think it was the militia?"

It could have been the militia, she acknowledged. They liked to harass everyone not fully human. But it could just as easily be one of the local gangs, trying to get the speeder, or a drunken band of juveniles, or even slavers. There was just no way of knowing.

But that wasn't what the young man before her needed to hear.

"It was probably one of the local patrols, out for some fun," she said, gently steering him in and down, sitting him down and taking his organic hand into both of hers. "We probably won’t manage to find out which patrol exactly, but there's a good chance that they'll linger in the area. They like to keep their rotation on a fairly predictable schedule."

Lucas nodded, his eyes now boring into hers, ice-blue and ice-hard.

"We must get them, Anngie, we simply _must._ How do we do that?"

And _here_ was the fire that wouldn’t be put out by any loss, that would continue the fight long after the old fools like her were gone. She smiled gently. _Now_ the boy was ready.

"Do you know what an explosive belt is, Lucas?"


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please be aware of the UPDATED TAGS. As always, a big thank you to my great beta, Princessleia9977, any remaining mistakes are my own.

"Finally, a breakthrough."

Master Windu smiled in that minimalist way he had, the depth of his relief audible only through the Force.

Lukka had stopped in the doorway to their quarters, unable to share his teacher's joy. Not when Klindo's face, slack and empty, kept flashing before his eyes.

"How do you know about it, Master Windu?" he asked while shedding his comfortable jacked in favour of the Jedi attire. Stars, it was good to have his lightsaber back at his belt. "I didn't think that it would cause any disturbance in the Force."

Master Windu gave his civvies and blaster the same look of mild disgust he had learnt to ignore, before moving over to the cluttered desk.

"The Force, while a beautiful and powerful tool, is not the only one at the disposal of a true Jedi, Padawan. Sometimes it can be of benefit to look further afield. For example, into those military reports you have been disregarding."

"What?"

He whirled to look at Master Windu, one hand still caught in his outer cloak, suddenly confused. There was no possible way-

"The military, Master Windu?"

If the military had the intelligence network capable of uncovering the progress he had just made, there would be no need for the operation in the first place.

Master Windu was frowning at him, one hand still taping the datapad, and Lukka suddenly understood that they were having two separate conversations.

"What progress are you referring to, Master Windu?" he asked slowly, a chilly dread rising in him.

Master Windu gave him a long, severe stare, his displeasure radiating through the Force, the ripples tugging at Lukka's shields like mynocks chewing on a ship's wires. Finally, he sat down and leaned back in the massive chair, something in his posture reminding Lukka of Uncle Owen's vary resignation.

"One of the information gathering units has a promising lead," Master Windu said, his eyes once more travelling to the datapad. "They have managed to pin down the most likely source of the attack. A small but well organised Blimbosh terrorist cell located in the west of the capital, in one of the abandoned schools. They are apparently calling themselves _The Liberation Front,_ if you can believe it."

"And they think that they were the ones who- But why?" he demanded more than asked, which was probably unwise, but stars, that- That didn’t make any sense! "What proof do they have?"

"They have testimonies from several independent sources, Padawan, all pointing in that direction. As for the proof…" Master Windu sent him another long look and Lukka felt a shiver run down his spine, a sudden premonition. He was shaking his head in denial even before Master Windu finished: "- we will be the ones to gather that."

"No, Master Windu, it’s not-"

"No, apprentice?"

That brought Lukka up short, for all that Master Windu's voice was mild. There were dangerous undercurrents in the Force now, tiny and easy to miss, like wisps of a fog drifting along the swamp, concealing the hidden perils.

"It can't possibly be the right organization, Master Windu," he began anew, trying hard to keep his tone respectful. "I've been working to uncover the ones responsible for the bombing and they have no connection to any cells in the western districts-"

"Not that you know of, apprentice," Master Windu interrupted, his tone disinterested as he rose and started gathering his equipment, sturdy boots and durable cloak, the field med-kit…

"I know that there aren't any Kham'glinn's working for this organization," he pushed, heedless of the Force's warnings, his teacher's displeasure a pale thing in comparison to the dank darkness he could sense lurking right ahead, just waiting for them to march into its maw.

"Then what were you even doing investigating it? Do you enjoy wasting our time here?"

"Those attacks didn’t originate from the Kham'glinn's community, Master Windu-"

"They were targeting the people population of Haarun Kal, their political and military leaders-"

"Yes, but it wasn't a Kham'glinn's who carried it out, it was a human from a poor-"

"That's _enough_ , apprentice!"

Lukka stopped. Master Windu, for all that he was frequently frustrated with him, had never before risen his voice.

He appeared quite surprised with himself, for a moment stuck still, and Lukka could sense his aggravation warring with his durasteel standards, could almost see the moment the latter won, straightening his spine and smoothing his face.

Lukka remained silent while the older man took a few steps away, his hands clenched, his struggle for calm blindingly obvious in the Force. It stank, like ripples on a surface rarely disturbed, a cord better left untouched. Lukka's senses had been strung for days now, always on high alert, aware of the approaching threat but unable to predict its shape. Now he kept himself still, arrested by a new possibility.

When Master Windu finally spoke, both his voice and his Force presence were free of emotion. Lukka could as well be speaking with a droid.

"I have been very lenient with you so far, Padawan, perhaps too much so, given your present behaviour. I have allowed you to spend a great amount of time unsupervised, pursuing your own agenda, asking neither about your company nor your action plan. But I am still your Master and I demand your obedience, if respect is too much to ask for."

"I do respect you, Master Windu," he assured quietly, and it was true; for all their problems, he was aware of Jedi Master's many stellar qualities.

"You have a truly bizarre way of showing that, apprentice."

Lukka didn’t respond, mostly because he wasn't sure what exactly his teacher meant. He had abided by all the Order rules, even when they chaffed, he had been working on achieving the mission's objective, he hadn’t endangered the Republic's diplomatic relationship nor their personal safety… He certainly hadn’t been disrespectful toward Master Windu. He really didn’t know what this whole debate was about.

"Do you have any specific objections to my behaviour, Master Windu?" he asked slowly, aware that he may be stirring the glinkh-wiper nest, but damn it all, if he wanted to survive the melee looming in their future, he needed to be focused on their opponents, not busy looking over his shoulder. The Force agreed, leaping eagerly at the ragged edges of their bond, weak and curdled as it was.

There was a sudden, dissonant note in the Force, there and gone in the instant, as Master Windu looked at him sharply, his face almost inhuman in its stillness. Lukka tried to match that stillness, abruptly very conscious of the distance between them, a desk and a chair a flimsy barrier, the room's dimensions not allowing for much space to manoeuvre… The moment lingered, stretched.

"You are not jesting," Master Windu at least stated, a hint of disbelief breaking through. "You truly do not see anything wrong with your conduct."

"If there is something wrong, I'd rather you tell me," _instead of just expecting me to guess,_ Lukka didn’t add, but something of his feeling must have leaked across his barriers, the Force turning sour and clammy with Master Windu's disappointment.

"I do not have time to enumerate your various failing right now, apprentice, not when we are expected at the raid location, but rest assured, we will be revisiting this subject," Master Windu warned, finally breaking the stand-off and handing Lukka his cloak. "For the present, just follow my instructions, _without_ any backtalking, if you can manage."

"I shall do my best, Master Windu," Lukka snarked quietly on their way out.

 

***

 

Mace nodded at the saluting soldiers, eyeing the dim structure in the distance with unease. The Force was turbulent, obscuring more than guiding, the Dark Side laying thick and clogging along their future path.

"Have there been any suspicious activity, captain?"

"No, Master Jedi, nothing outside the regular movement," the young woman replied readily enough. "Just as for the last three days we have been keeping watch."

 _And waiting for you to grace us with your presence,_ Mace could almost imagine the captain's drawl, although she was too well trained to actually say it. It seemed that, with the target finally in sight, the soldier did not appreciate being told to wait.

Well, that made two of them, Mace thought as he nodded at his rowdy Padawan to come closer.

"The soldiers have been monitoring all activity onsite. Now they remain only as a safety measure for the locals and to take charge of the prisoners," he instructed his student, pointing at the field surveillance centre. "The weight of the attack and extraction lies on us."

"Why? Wouldn't it be safer to go in with greater numbers? Or to use robots, or even an air strike, Master Windu?"

"Not in this instance" he replied. "The base is located in an abandoned school, but the neighbouring area is home to other businesses and a number of private residents. An air strike would be too risky. The same goes for droids, they do not always differentiate between a non-combatant and a legitimate target. And, before you ask, the soldiers are staying here on my decision."

Ekkreth looked at him with tolerable composure, waiting for an explanation, but beneath the surface Mace could sense a rolling dissonance, harsh and bitter against his senses. The Dark Side seemed to be on the rise tonight, its slimy waves tainting the very air, clutching everyone in its chokehold.

"The infantry has been sustaining heavy losses as of late, Padawan, and I am not eager to compound them by leading a unit into the bomber's base. We can be certain that they have booby-trapped the whole complex. You and I have the Force as our ally, but I will not risk the lives of those men unnecessary."

"Yes, Master Windu," the younger man murmured, and there, finally, Mace could sense some glimmer of warmer feelings in the dank roll of the Force.

"It falls to us to secure the location and disarm the terrorists, apprentice," he continued, slowly approaching the building. The dead zone would give him ample time to finish the briefing. "According to the surveillance, there are between ten and thirteen beings inside, and we must assume that all of them are armed and dangerous. We must disarm as many as possible before we are noticed, and an alarm is raised. Be especially wary of any devices in their hold. A bomb detonation would kill not only us, but also injure the locals."

"I understand, Master Windu."

"Do you?" he wondered aloud, doubtful and mistrustful of everything on this night. The Force was tugging at him, wild and almost excited, for all that the Darkness should have made it cold and still like death.

"I will not fail, Master Windu," Ekkreth said quietly, his lightsaber already in his hand.

"We shall see. But remember Padawan," he stopped for a moment to better look into Ekkreth's eyes, dark and alien in the absence of light. "For all that I believe we have finally found those responsible for the attack, it matters not if I am mistaken. Whether or not this is the precise terrorist group we were looking for, they are ready to kill us just the same. Obey my instructions, listen to the Force, and we shall meet again at the sunrise."

"So symbolic, Master Windu," Ekkreth tried to smile even as they started walking again, the empty stretch of a parking place separating them from their destination shrinking rapidly. Their steps seemed to echo in the quiet night air.

"Symbols are there for a reason, you uncouth barbarian."

"To give Master Hlimming something to drone about during lectures?"

"Go, apprentice," he sighed, his own blade a comforting weight in his hand. "Go and-

"Try not to get myself killed?"

"Go, and may the Force be with you."

"And with you, Master Windu."

With the well-wish still rasping along the heavy air, Ekkreth moved away, to the right, where the second entrance was concealed. Mace kept on his own course to the main door and tried to ignore the taste of copper at the back of his throat, the strange, stretchy feeling of a chasm jawing before him, of a disaster coming. Whatever the night may bring, whatever the Force willed, he had a job to do.

The door opened to the counterfeit chip from the military easily enough, the corridor behind it dark and narrow. Mace walked slowly, wary of possible traps, listening intently for any sound, any tremble in the Force that would betray the terrorists' positions. In the back of his mind, the bond with his Padawan laid quiet, nothing but an occasional flash of focus and determination sneaking through. They were both in.

A subtle tremor, a small tug brought his steps to a small room, seemingly empty, but- There, by the shuttered window, a dark shape of a sleeping human. A young woman curled around a semi-automatic blaster rifle. 

Mace came to a stop a few paces away and impassively reached out with the Force, out into the body, through flesh and sinew and blood, until his mental fingers found the correct nerve bundle and pinched it, rendering the terrorist unconscious. It was an old Jedi skill, far safer to the target than the crude blaster bolt, though requiring a greater control and so not for everyone. But Mace was a Jedi Master, and now, with the goal burning brightly in his mind, there was nothing that could stand in his way.

He went ahead, into the next room, empty, along the narrow corridor, the doors on both sides, no life inside, avoided the staircase, bulging with danger in the Force, to the left, another sleeping being, sent into unconsciousness, into an abandoned office… On and on he went, his steps sure, the Force guiding his path, up another level, into the next room, and the next…

A bright flare of alarm behind him, a rapid pirouette and a suggestion, an order sent through the Force, the human lowering his blaster, quickly rendered unconscious. A shot of hot plasma from above, stopped by his blade, another, three more, then he was moving, was flying through crystal space and the lagging time at his attackers, disarming them, a destroyed blaster and a strike to the head, the other hit by an unfortunate ricochet, dead on the floor. Moving on, a magazine of some sort, avoid the floor in the middle, a door on the left-

Behind the door on the left awaited death.

He approached it carefully, the old lock mechanism creaking, opening the door only half-way through, enough for him to slip in. The inside was dark, no lights, not even a glimmer from the control panels, the sounds echoing off the far walls, a gleam of another door on the opposite wall, at least thirty meters away. No living being inside. He stood motionless for a moment, the hum of his lightsaber barely audible over the roaring of the Dark Side in his ears.

There was death here, crunching in the shadows.

There were crates stacked along the wall on his right, big old things, reaching up, beyond the glow of his lightsaber. Many of them, at least thirty, and inside- He approached, found one on the ground level and heaved up the lid, the aged metal giving way with a screech, an echo of a scream from further away in the complex, what was Ekkreth doing- Inside, there were explosives. Many of them, too many to count. The Dark Side crackled, its delight heavy in the air, slim along Mace's tongue. The charges were old and varied, a motley heap of small explosives from the Colony Words, a big packet with distinctly Hutt symbols sneaking around the detonator, a truly ancient land-mine from Nab'kk'd, and others yet he could not recognise.

If even half of them was still functional, it was enough fire-power to destroy a great section of the capital, along with its citizens. Thanks be the Force that he had found it before it could be used.

He shut the crate firmly, one hand reaching for the com at his belt, about to call in the bomb disposal unit, to put an end to the smell of death and decay still hanging in the air, when the door opposite him banged open.

In stumbled a small shape, a humanoid child, sighed and trying to run on a badly damaged leg, clutching a blaster to its heaving chest. Mace stared for a barest second, uncomprehending, what was a child doing in such a place- The door banged open a second time and the child's pursuer came into view.

Ekkreth looked half-crazed, his eyes wild, the blade in his hand throwing dancing shadows along the room, the Force a roaring beast curled around him, sweeping his path, leading him to this place of death and pain and a small child- The child! Mace turned, but he was too late, the child had already staggered to the crates, the blaster lying abandoned on the floor, in the child's hand-

In the child's hand, there was a thermal detonator.

"Don’t," Ekkreth rasped, his voice urgent but not imbued with a Force suggestion, what was he thinking- "You don’t want to do it."

The child's face twisted, tears falling down from its eyes, the strange feelers on its head swinging madly, it couldn't be older than ten- Mace shut down his lightsaber and took a step forward. The Force lurched, tense and cold, a void about to be filled- He reached for its torrent, found its calm and surety, imbued it into his being and his voice-

"Don't!" Ekkreth half-shouted, his eyes now boring into Mace, and the child jumped, its hand moving-

"Put the detonator down, child," Mace said, the Force infusing his words, strengthening them into an unshakable order. "We mean you no harm. Put the detonator down."

Ekkreth moaned, a low, tortured sound, the Force rising like a tide, a gigantic surge of power and diamond-hard sand, as the child's hand halted, trembling- The seconds stretched into years- Then the Force gave a great shudder, its power cresting, and the child's face twisted anew, scared and desperate, its hands moving, grasping the detonator's switch- Mace rushed forward but he was too far away, they were going to die here after all-

A rush of the Force, humid and dark and tasting of glaciers, and the green blade rushed on its wave, sweeping before Mace, aiming at- cutting through-

The child's hands fell on the floor, still clutching the detonator.

 

***

 

The afternoon light felt cold and distant on Lukka's face, the window in their quarters keeping him firmly separated from the outside world. Perhaps for the best.

He felt Master Windu's approach long before he entered, the bond between them kept purposely wide open, a constant irritation. He had tried to wall himself in, but there was only so much distance he could put between them before his teacher grew suspicious. The constant supervision chafed.

He kept looking through the window even as Master Windu came to stand behind him, his troubled emotions ringing a sour note in the Force. The vibrations were so strong, leaving Lukka with no need to use his _eyes,_ of all crude things… Besides, the people milling outside the embassy were infinitely more interesting than another lecture.

For all the good such lectures had done him in the past.

"Good afternoon, apprentice," Master Windu began, because apparently good manners were one of the cornerstones of civilization and it would surely crumble, should Jedi ever forget about them. "I can see you are being exceedingly productive. As you should, given the time constraints we are under."

"You've given me very specific instructions, Master Windu," he replied without much heat. "I'm merely obeying them."

"At long last."

 _It's your fault,_ Lukka could almost hear him say. The child's suffering, its trauma, maybe death, the whole disaster of a mission... It was all his fault.

He shrugged, attention drawn to the ebb and flow of the crowd below, swelling now with beings arriving from work, rough coveralls mixing with business attire and even a few high-end robes. The unease was thick in the air, growing as the numbers grew, spreading like a blood patch on a field dressing.

They were all waiting for news.

"You might be interested in knowing that the child has finally stabilised. The medics tell me that the girl will live," Master Windu continued.

A girl. He hadn’t been sure of the child's sex. Her little face had been too dirty with ash and tears, the terrified thoughts too jumbled to make any sense of, her pain-

Suffering had no identifying marks.

"I'm glad to hear that," he managed, terribly aware of Master Windu's eyes boring into his back.

What was her name, he wondered, eyes locked on the few children in the crow below. Was she named after her older siblings, as was the custom here? Did she have any?

Was there anyone to take care of her, now that she could not do it herself?

"The bomb disposal units have made substantial progress. The Intelligence have identified the terrorists' most likely supplies," Master Windu said after a moment. "The military is confident they will be able to track them down and bring them to justice. I don't suppose you have had the time to contact them and help with their efforts? I understand that brooding can be quite time consuming."

"You ordered me to-"

"To desist with unproductive venues, be they your foolish investigation or the inappropriate and- and frankly _dangerous_ attachment you are forming."

"Wanting to know if the _little child_ that I've hurt is alright is not-"

"It's distracting and unproductive, Padawan, especially as it stops you from fulfilling your mission," Mace Windu thundered from close to Lukka now, his conviction a titanium star in the fabric of the Force, bright and cold. "The child is properly looked after, that should be enough for you."

"I just-"

"You just cannot accept that your actions have consequences, apprentice."

That's- that's kriffing bantha shit, he was painfully aware of the _consequences-_

The accusation finally propelled Lukka to face his teacher, standing up in a rush, the two of them facing each other with too little space between them.

"You chose to disregard my instructions, to entangle yourself in a dubious investigation of a minor criminal cell," Master Windu continued into Lukka's shocked silence. "Which you still refuse to tell me about. Why is that?"

Lukka shook his head, momentarily unable to form words, to make any sound at all, the blunt memory of Klindo's slack face sending a cold shudder down his spine.

"No? Nothing?" Master Windu shook his head as well, but slowly, the disappointment writ large on his face. "Then what about this night's raid? You have been silent and sullen ever since."

"What-" Lukka did his best to unstick his tongue, to answer, to at least try to defend himself. "What about the raid?"

"What happened with the child, Lukka? Why hadn't you subdued her, or used a Force suggestion on her?"

"It- it wouldn’t work," he ground out, every syllable peeling something vital off his skin, another barrier of protection destroyed. "She was so scared, so desperate, she-"

She was the same race as Klindo, had the same gently moving forehead feelers and small teeth, would she look the same with her mind shattered?

He swallowed with difficulty.

"It wouldn't work on her," he whispered.

There was a moment of silence, Master Windu's eyes boring into him, judging, probably finding him wanting.

"Lukka," the Jedi Master finally said, his voice unexpectedly calm, almost gentle. "I can see that there is something wrong. Why don’t you tell me what is bothering you?"

"There's nothing wrong," he replied automatically. "I'm fine."

And he was. He still had his hands attached to his body, he hadn’t been hurt and traumatised, he hadn’t had his mind broken- He was fine. He gathered the Force around himself, its cool embrace smoothing his trembling fingers.

"Lukka-"

"I'm fine."

"Padawan, I cannot help you if you don't tell me the truth."

"I don't need help!" he burst out, the Force becoming a harsh wind along his exposed nerves, tempting- His breath came ragged with effort to ignore its song. "Stop looking at me like that."

"Like what?"

"Like you can fix me!"

They both stopped, stilled, silent and unmoving. The moment stretched, became uncomfortable, the silence almost painful now, probing at Lukka's mental shields- The words burned, lodged in his throat, he couldn't-

He turned away, back to the window, away from these dark eyes, taking deep, calming breaths.

"I'm fine," he said and was relieved when his voice didn't waver. "And I haven’t been ignoring your orders, Master Windu. I've completed a report on my investigation, it's on the datapad on your desk."

A very brief and often inaccurate report, but some things were still too raw to put them down in writing.

"I'm heartened to hear that," Master Windu replied after a long, uncomfortable pause, his voice no longer gentle, no longer pitying, no longer anything at all. The man's emotions went flat, an opaque rock in the Force, giving Lukka no clue what he was thinking, what he would do-

"I hope that one day you'll trust me enough to ask for help, apprentice. And to realise that my orders are not given for any reason other than to ensure the success of our mission and our safety, hard as it may be for you to accept."

"When have I ever disobeyed?" he asked with a shrug, his insides unclenching with the change of a subject.

"When have you not?" Master Windu made a wide gesture with his hands, the Force flowing in his wake like a purple sash. "These last few weeks you have been absent more often than not, leaving me no way to contact you, ignoring every sensible safety precaution-"

 "I've been investigating-"

"You have been wasting your time on a completely random group of insignificant criminals."

"They're responsible for the attack! Hardly insignificant!"

"You have no proof of that, apprentice. No proof and nothing to show for your efforts, if I understood you correctly."

"If I only have more time-"

"You are out of time, apprentice, and I am out of patience. The government has investigated and accepted the group we have dealt with as the culprits."

Lukka stopped mid-thought, his next words drying on his tongue. Slowly, he turned to face his teacher.

"What?" he took a step back, putting some space between them, getting out of the sun's rays. The abrupt cold along his fingertips seemed more than a simple shadow could explain.

"All the sights point to those terrorists being responsible for the boulevard attack," Master Windu replied, his face growing still once more. "The government officials reviewed the evidence and charged them with organised crime and multiple murders. Those that have survived, anyway. The trial is to commence in a few days."

"But that's-" _kriffing bullshit,_ Lukka thought wildly. "That's not what we've promised Keentar."

"She has already been contacted and agreed to send a representative to oversee the trial. That's as good a compromise as she was going to get, and she is well aware of that fact."

The Force pulsed under Lukka's skin, eager and hungry. He took another step back, deeper into the lengthening shadows. The space between them still seemed terribly insufficient, but he couldn't withdraw, he would be putting his back to a wall, cornering himself in-

He took a deep breath, tasting of snow and wampa's defiant roar, and tried hard to calm down. He could almost hear Leia's voice reminding him to think, to anticipate instead of just react. He needed that, needed to reach past the pulse of adrenaline in his veins.

"We promised Keentar to find those responsible for the attack," he reminded his teacher. "And they are still at large."

"Not according to the authorities," Master Windu cocked his head slightly, the setting sun catching on the stark planes of his face. "Indeed, everyone but you seem convinced otherwise. Your obstinacy is as unfounded as it is ill-advised. No!" the Jedi Master interrupted Lukka's reply, his tone harsh. "Enough of that, Padawan. I have had enough of your defiance. Those criminals will go to trial and you will _not interfere._ "

Lukka closed his eyes for a moment, all his senses straining, his muscles almost quivering with tension. He knew and understood the importance of following orders, the chain of command very clear, but what Master Windu was telling him- It went against everything he- He _knew_ that he was on the right track with his investigation, that this path would lead him to the real culprits, the Force all but pushing him along, its melody sure and strong. And now he was supposed to just leave? After all this effort, all these lies, after _Klindo_?

The Force in and around Master Windu was sour but steady, an unshakeable rock. He would not be moved.

"I will not interfere," Lukka repeated, his voice a strangled whisper. "But allow me to continue my own investigation."

"Absolutely not," the reply was stiff, not even a thought given to the possibility. Lukka bristled.

"I need only a little more time-"

"Even had we more time, I would not condone-

"Why the kriffing hell not?"

At that Master Windu froze, his form still and distilled of emotions, the Force around him controlled and opaque. Deliberate. The echo of Lukka's almost-scream rang too loud, returning to ensnare them both in this icy tableau.

"If my word is not enough for you, Padawan," he said very quietly after a few awful moments, "then perhaps your own sense of duty will tell you why."

Lukka clenched his fists, grasping for control.

"I _know_ duty," he said just as quietly. And he did: the duty he was born with and that he picked up on his own, be it to look after the moisture vaporators or to destroy the battle station bigger than a moon, bigger than he could comprehend. "Duty is _not_ leaving a task half-finished."

"And _what exactly_ is your task?"

Lukka blinked and almost shrugged, but for his tense shoulders, numb with tension. Surely the answer was obvious?

"To find and catch those responsible for the bombing."

To help and repair some of the injustice, the discrimination the Kham'glinn's had suffered over the years, his heart whispered.

"No, apprentice," Master Windu took a few steps closer, his tall form still unnaturally rigid. "That's just a deal you've foolishly stuck with Keentar. What is the task that we have been sent here to complete? The task given to us by the Council?"

The Force, quietly tense until now, rose and whirled abruptly, its chaotic torrent a reflection of Lukka's frantic thoughts. He remembered their mission objective, but surely-

"Master Windu, those terrorists pose a serious threat-"

"What is our task, Padawan?"

He was getting heartily sick of being interrupted. Still, he answered:

"To investigate the situation and to assure the local government of the Republic's continued support," he replied, almost tasting the still air of the Council Chamber on his tongue. "To contact both sides of the conflict, to mediate when possible. To de-escalate the hostilities."

"Exactly," Master Windu nodded. "And we have done so."

"But we haven't," he disagreed, raking his hand through his hair, tired and frustrated with the argument, unable to see the logic. "We haven't solved anything, we've just given them a quick fix, at best."

"What would you prefer we do, Padawan?" Master Windu enquired, the seemingly innocent curiosity sitting wrong on his face. "Would like to stay here and oversee the trial and negotiations? Stay longer still to make sure that both sides fulfil the terms of any potential agreement? Help to enforce their accord?"

Lukka grimaced, the shadow of the old doubts thick on his tongue, burning in his gut. That's why he was a pilot, not a politician: he was good under the pressure, under fire and in pursuit, not at a committee meeting.

"We owe the people here more," he said.

"Our duty is, first and foremost, to the Jedi Order and the Republic, which we guard and serve. We are few in number, and our services are required elsewhere. That's why commitment is forbidden, Padawan," Mace Windu words were equally quiet, but unrelenting, leaving Lukka no choice but to listen, to bow and obey. "The Jedi serve all people, in all worlds. We cannot treasure one person, one nation, or even one planet, over the others. We cannot sacrifice the good of a whole for the well-being of an individual. That way lies division and discord, loss of objectivity and loss of lives."

The creed of the Order, one of its unbreakable laws. It had been explained and recited to Lukka ad nauseam in the Temple, as if he needed the reminder. As if he could ever forget the organic smell of the swamp, the urgency burning in his bones and the sour taste of disillusionment.

_'Sacrifice Han and Leia?'_

_'If you honour what they fight for? Yes.'_

He looked away, uncomfortable, angry at himself. He should be used to disappointment by now.

"You will give a _detailed_ rapport about your own investigation to the military," Master Windu continued after a few moments, apparently taking Lukka's silence as an agreement. "They will investigate and interfere, should those criminals pose any threat to the populace. Rest assured, the people will be kept safe."

As safe as they have been for the last few years? Will the soldiers protect them from suicide bombers, from theft, starvation, and poverty? Kriff, who will protect them from the s _oldiers'_ brutality?

But Lukka didn't ask. This whole- not discussion, more of a kriffing command session, this whole thing was a waste of time and effort. Master Windu would not listen, and Lukka was tired of being talked over, of being ignored and put down. Not even the cool flow of the Force could smooth the angry, humiliated blush on his face.

"The official announcement of trial and the peace talks is tomorrow at noon. We leave straight after," Master Windu decreed before turning away, leaving Lukka to his circular, unhelpful thoughts.

Stars, what a mess. What was he going to do?

 

***

 

In the end, there was little he _could_ do.

He rewrote his report for the military, bitterly sure that they would arrest only those easily found and caught, not those in charge of the whole operation. The true perpetrators, whoever they were, would remain at large, and soon enough, Lukka was certain, there would be another bomb attack, another blast of pain and death and savage retribution.

After all, the only way to get rid of the Sand People was to cut them all down, to the last rider, burn their melon fields and slaughter their banthas. Only a fool would allow the chieftains to remain free, to plot and plan their revenge.

The next day, after the press conference, behind the insincere thanks and assurances, in the distance growing between their ship and the green planet, Lukka could hear the wind of the desert, pitiless and hungry.

Waiting to reward their folly.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This marks the end of Haruun Kal arch and means a longer wait as I work on new chapters. Sorry in advance.
> 
> As always, a big thank you to my beta, Princessleia9977, and to all you guys. Thank you for reading, leaving kudos and, most of all, for all your lovely comments. They sure give me some interesting ideas.

Coruscant was a shock. In the last few weeks he had somehow managed to forget how big it was, how dense and busy, how brilliant in the Force. The first few days had been… difficult. After the grit and sweat of Haruun Kal, after the solid and _real_ life of the beings there, the Temple seemed strangely lacking. Serene and sterile and flimsy, like a two-dimensional toy, and about as useful.

His friends (and stars, it felt good to have friends again, even if he couldn't openly call them that) noticed and worried.

"You've been- strange, lately," Maja stated one afternoon, her Force presence licking at his shields, attempting to see and heal. "And don't tell me you are fine, I have eyes, you know."

"It’s nothing," he assured her, again. "It's just a bit startling, you know? Being here again, after so long away."

"It can be difficult, leaving home for a prolonged mission," she nodded, her small hand gently patting the nearby windowsill. "The world outside can be so- peculiar, wonderful and brutal all at once. Still, it's a relief to have you back home with us. And in one piece, too. I wasn't expecting that."

"Very funny."

"It was amusing the first few times, now it's just concerning," Master Nasdu-ibb said a few days later, deactivating the blade in her hands. "You have left yourself wide open for that last attack, and you know better. What's happening?"

"Sorry, Master Nasdu-ibb," he panted, getting back on his feet. "I'm just tired, but you're right. I'll do better next time."

"I asked for the reason, not an excuse," she handed him his lightsaber back, her narrow face unusually gentle. "There's obviously something wrong."

"It's nothing, I'm fine."

"You are not. You are distracted, slower, and you have just failed to mount any significant attack, despite the opportunities I've given you."

"You taught me to look for feints, Master Nasdu-ibb," he tried to dismiss, the smile sitting wrong and cracked on his face.

"And I can spot them myself. I know I'm not your Master, Lukka, but I wish you'd tell me what's troubling you."

"Thank you for your concern, but I'm fine, Master Windu," he demurred after yet _another_ discussion about the recent events that his teacher kept insisting on. Kriff, even the Alliance's psych team hadn't been that persistent.

"The bags under your eyes and obvious distraction would beg to disagree, Padawan," the man replied.

"It's truly nothing," he dismissed with a slight smile, sitting like a mask on his face.

"Lukka."

That stopped him, for a short instant brought his eyes to his teacher's, deep and dark.

"I understand that the recent mission has left you- disquieted," Master Windu said quietly. "It had certainly turned out more brutal and exacting than I had anticipated. It would have shaken anyone. You are my Padawan, it is my duty to help and guide you. But I cannot do that if you do not let me in."

He seemed sincere, the Force around him deep and still, like the crystal lakes on Yavin, full of life and richness. And Lukka was tempted, so stupidly tempted to take that offer, that hand reaching out to him, to share what was troubling him, almost eating him alive-

But-

But how to put his vague fears into words? What could he say? _I didn’t mean to hurt anyone? I just wanted to help? There must be something wrong with me, something dark and twisted, something of my father, that I could hurt a child… It scares me. This whole situation scares me. I know what it means, to fight in a rebellion, and I used to be so sure, to know what the right thing to do was, and now-_

Now it was all such a bungled mess.

But he knew his teacher, knew his iron will and unbending loyalty to the Order and its laws. He could almost hear the words he would use to condemn his fears as belonging to the Dark Side.

"Thank you," he repeated, meaning it this time. He was grateful for the extended help, even if he could not accept it. He was afraid just how much he would reveal, once the dam broke. "But, as you said, it was just a bit more exciting than I was prepared for. I'll be fine. I just need some time."

"Time," Master Windu repeated, his face growing shuttered. "Very well. If you will not accept help, then I will give you time. On the condition that you will come and talk to me, once you are ready. Once you can admit to yourself what is troubling you so."

"It's this mission. It's been bugging me, I don't ever really know why," he said to Anakin one evening in the safety of their workroom, among the tools and microchips strew around the worktable.

"I've noticed," Anakin abandoned the ultra-blue torch to look at him, his face serious. "I was surprised they sent you to Haruun Kal. The first few missions are supposed to be easy, well, as easy as the missions ever get."

"What was yours?"

"A diplomat summit on Feeed'ra," the boy shrugged. "Not terribly interesting, but Obi-Was always keeps saying I need to work on my patience, or my negotiation skills won't ever improve."

"I guess he has no problems with being patient himself?" Lukka asked, for a moment blindsided by a memory of an old man, hiding among the wastelands, patiently guarding… Who? His friend's child? His future student? His investment, his last chance at killing a Sith Lord?

The Force moved in and around him, cool and deep, shielding and arming him. If he would only reach, it whispered, its might would be his to command, he would be powerful, too powerful to ever be hurt again-

Anakin's hand touched his arm, warm and grounding.

"Obi-Wan can make a tectonic shift look hasty. But you're changing the subject," Anakin accused with refreshing bluntness. "About your mission."

"Stars, I'm tired of thinking about it," he threw the half-finished neural transmitter on the worktable. "It's not that big of a deal, hardly the first time an operation went FUBAR. I'll get over it."

"Get over what? What went wrong?"

"What didn't?" he snorted.

"Tell me," Anakin insisted, with the stubbornness that Lukka recognised well, that dogged determination that allowed humans to squeeze water from rock and air and cling to life in a place where no life should be possible. He knew better than to fight against it.

Slowly, he told the story to Anakin. He sat there, looking at the disorganised screws and pieces of synthetic skin, and talked about Haruun Kal. He attempted to be as cursory as possible, not wanting to think about it too much, trying not to be too graphic. The instinct to protect Anakin was unexpected and frankly idiotic, but he didn’t want to expose him to the searing heat of the explosions, to pain and death, to suspicion and lies and betrayal.

Anakin listened without interruptions, didn’t need clarifications, just nodded when Lukka described the song of the Force, its overwhelming presence, no disbelief in him. So, Lukka talked, feeling a bit lighter with every word, and as he talked, he realised what had been troubling him.

"I've hurt a friend," he summed it up, his throat dry. "It doesn't matter that he was a terrorist, stars, they'd been calling _me_ a terrorist, a mass-murderer, I know what a pile of- Klindo was still my friend and I've hurt him. I didn’t mean to, I just- I lost control, pushed too hard. And I've hurt him."

He had to stop and take a deep breath, nausea twisting his guts. Anakin remained silent, his hand unmoving on Lukka's arm.

"I've wounded a child," he whispered. "She surprised me, but she was scared and alone and I've cut off her arms.  She- she'll never hug anyone again."

His own mechanical arm hurt, the phantom pain cold and searing.

"And after all that, we had to leave. I just- I heard what Master Windu said, and I can even agree, in abstract, but-" he shook his head. "It's- I don’t know. It seems so _wrong_ , to put people through so much suffering, just for a fix-gap. Not even that, not for Kham'glinn's. There's no guarantee that anything is going to change for them. And the Force all but screams at me that there's something sinister going on, that all this will end up hurting me, somehow, in the long run. I don’t understand why Master Windu won't just _listen!_ "

"Because he's deaf," Anakin said with unexpected force. "Deaf and blind. They all are."

"What?" he looked at the boy, surprised at the ferocity ringing in his tone, in the Force.

"The Masters and other Jedi," Anakin clarified, squeezing Lukka's arm. "They're always saying that I need to concentrate and really listen, or I won't sense the Force. As if I could miss it! It's right here! They- I don’t know if I'm explaining this right. They talk about a whisper when for me the Force is a shout, a blast louder than a jet engine."

"It can be terribly loud," Lukka agreed slowly, a smile twisting his lips. "Once you learn how to listen, it can be hard to tune it out."

"And even harder to ignore," Anakin smiled back, his face young and open. "But they aren’t like us. That's why they need to meditate and work twice as hard to be even half as good as us," he boasted.

"But how can they miss it?" Lukka wondered.

"Obi-Wan says that the Dark Side is rising, obscuring everything," Anakin shrugged, obviously not buying into the explanation, and Lukka was tempted to agree with him. He remembered the galaxy shrouded in true Darkness, cold and empty but for the distant, freezing supernova of a powerful Sith Lord, always there, always looking, searching…

"Champions don't make excuses," he stated, quoting one of Uncle Owen's favourite sayings.

Anakin startled, looking at him with wide eyes.

"My mom used to say that," he said quietly.

Lukka stilled, sensing something, a great upheaval in the Force, looming in their path, before it shifted, fading into the fabric of the future. Only a vague sense of uneasiness remained.

"And she was probably right," he responded, shaking himself, taking the hand prototype and putting it away in the strongbox. He was too preoccupied to keep working on it today.

"Then you shouldn't be making any excuses, either," Anakin pointed out and keep talking, not allowing Lukka to interrupt. "Klindo may have been your friend, but he'd have killed you, if you hadn't stopped him. You didn't mean to hurt him, but some alien species are resilient to Force suggestion. You just need to practice more. And it goes for the girl as well. She can function perfectly alright with prosthetic hands, but you wouldn't be alright if she'd blown you all to pieces."

"I should've been able to stop her in some other way," Lukka said, slowly tiding up their work space, suddenly bone-tired. Too many emotional conversations, probably.

"Woulda, coulda, shoulda," Anakin intoned, his Rim accent growing thick. "You can’t know everything, you aren’t perfect. Just- I dunno. Try to do better next time?"

Lukka smiled, looking at Anakin, at that unexpected ray of sunshine in the dark time and colourless Temple.

"Thank you," he replied seriously, giving the boy a half-hug. "I'll do my best."

"You'd better. And if you're still, you know- not ok, we can always go visit the Chancellor. Even if he can’t do anything, he's very good at listening, and he always gives good advice."

"Let's not trouble him," he declined, leading Anakin out, to the Temple proper and their beds. "I'm sure he has more important things to do."

"You're important too, you know," Anakin replied, looking up at him. "To me."

_Luke, you do not realise your own importance._

He smiled back at the warm, honest boy walking at his side, and banished the dark whisper. It did not belong here.

 

***

 

But to the Chancellor they went, mostly because, apparently, Anakin was a regular visitor when on Coruscant, and he wanted Lukka with him. He didn’t say it outright, but Lukka suspected that the boy had been lonely for a long time, his unusual past and the persistent rumours about the Chosen One separating him from his peers. Lukka, the former Hero of Yavin, understood only too well.

The Chancellor's office was as opulent and vaguely intimidating as he remembered, quiet now in the evening. The Red Guards at the door remained silent and ever watchful, their minds a faint buzz in the Force. The Chancellor himself remained opaque, strangely smoothing with his hushed Force presence and a welcoming smile. Slowly, almost against his will, Lukka started to relax, listening more than speaking, lulled by the light conversation.

"Obi-Wan is preparing us for another mission," Anakin was saying, absently playing with his almost empty glass. "We're leaving in a few days, once he gets all the information. We're going to Glishnaa, something about a trade dispute."

"It is a pity that your time on Coruscant will be cut short," Chancellor Palpatine leaned back in his seat, his shoulders dropping just a bit. "And by such a trivial thing, as well. A trade dispute, really!"

Anakin shrugged, then caught himself and sent the man an apologetic look.

"The early reports say that one local tribe is blocking an important trade route, so the med-centres in the northern hemisphere aren't getting the supplies they need. Obi-Wan says it’s important, even if not terribly exciting."

"I am sure he knows best," the Chancellor nodded. "Yet I cannot help but feel… aggrieved, that I am to be robbed of your presence by such a minor matter. It's a task for a negotiation unit, not a Jedi."

"Aren’t Jedi supposed to be negotiators?"

"Perhaps, though one tends to forget about that when all some Masters do is play political games and display their fencing skills," the old man sighed, looking out, into the darkening skyline. "Still, any bureaucrat could handle such a trifling disagreement. Sending you is a waste of talent."

Anakin ducked his head, unsuccessfully trying to hide a smile. The Force hummed with his pleasure, pure and sweet like a Yavin mando fruit.

"I'd like to stay longer, but it's not up to me, your Excellency" he replied, his eyes finding Lukka for a moment. "The Council sends us out without asking our opinion."

"Then let us hope that they choose your missions wisely. Speaking of which, I understand that congratulations are in order, Lukka."

He almost started, his hands jerking, the smoothing ribbon of the Force between his fingers dissolving.

"I'm sorry?" he asked, trying to look like he hadn’t just been using a powerful, mythical phenomenon as a personal toy. Anakin sent him a knowing smirk, the little monkey.

"The Council's report on the Haruun Kal mission was quite positive regarding stabilising the region," Chancellor Palpatine said, his shoulders relaxing just a bit, seemingly losing some of its burdens. "I must admit, it was a relief to me. I had feared Haruun Kal to be too far gone in its stifle to be helped. Yet the peace conference, even now in progress, offers me some hope for its future."

Lukka stilled, momentary unsure.

"Thank you, your Excellency," he settled for replying, trying not to frown. "I'm glad you welcomed the news."

The Chancellor, of course, noticed.

"I take it you did not?" he asked slowly, freeing his hands from the elegant drinking cup and turning slightly, giving Lukka his full attention.

Lukka shook his head and tried to smile, to downplay his disquiet.

"Of course I did," he assured. "I'm happy to hear that the humans and Blimbosh are making progress towards peace. I hope they can achieve it without any further losses."

The Force swirled around him, quiet but smelling of burnt electronics, tasting of his half-truths. He could feel Anakin's eyes on him.

"Yes, of that I am quite sure," the Chancellor nodded. "Peace is always something to strive for. What is it, then, that troubles you so?"

"Excellency-"

"Please, Lukka," Chancellor Palpatine interrupted his half-baked excuses, those old eyes bright and piercing. "When one has spent so long a time fighting bureaucracy and peering behind masks, one can usually tell when they are being placated. And you, my young friend, are far too honest and honourable to make a skilled liar."

"He's not," Anakin re-joined the conversation, his tone insistent, the Force eddying around him in a familiar, warm patterns. The Chancellor gave him a brief smile before focusing back on Lukka.

"I do not wish to force your confidence, of course," he continued, something almost hurt hiding behind his words, "but I urge you to reconsider. If not for your own comfort, which in itself should be reason enough, then in the light of possible consequences to others. If the mission was not the success, as I was led to believe, then we must act swiftly. Before anyone suffers."

That hit Lukka hard, straight onto that ugly, unprotected place where his doubt had been fastening. His confusing, _baseless_ doubts about the Chancellor aside, this mission was important. For all that his misgivings about it were vague and would probably sound ridiculous to someone who hadn’t been there, who hadn’t felt the burning animosity and twisted Force flow… For all that, could he keep silent, if by doing so he risked others' safely?

What had keeping silent ever gained him, other than nineteen years under the burning suns?

"It's nothing concrete, your Excellency, nothing that would contradict the Council's report," he finally started, looking outside the wide window screen rather than at the man next to him. "I'm not even sure that there really is anything to be concerned about."

 "I have learnt to never dismiss the Jedi's intuition," the Chancellor assured, his tone gentle and coaxing, filling the darkening office. "Why don’t you tell us the tale from the beginning, then, so we can judge together if there is anything amiss."

He did, slowly and carefully, trying to be mindful of his words, describing actions rather than feelings, hoping not to give too much of himself away. The result reminded him of his old debriefings with the Alliance rather than the jumbled tale he shared with Anakin; maybe a bit bare, but at least more-or-less coherent.

"I understand why Master Windu would describe the mission as successful," he finished with, finally giving voice to his frustration. "Our mission was to de-escalate the conflict, and we did that. There may even be peace on Haruun Kal, one day. But- but we didn’t really do anything, help anyone. Least of all the Blimbosh. The peace, if it comes, will be terribly easy to destroy. All it would take is another terrorist attack."

"I see."

Lukka glanced at the Chancellor, who seemed deep in thoughts, the Force around him almost vibrating with intent and ideas. Anakin rose silently and refiled all their glasses, then moved over to sit close to Lukka, his presence a reassuring warmth at his side.

"You are worried that the true perpetrators of the attacks remain at large," the Chancellor stated rather than asked. "Rightly so. Are you quite certain that the captured criminals were not responsible?"

"Yes, your Excellency, though I have no proof. Not one that would convince any court of law," or his forever critical Master, Lukka didn't add. "I got the feeling that the roots of that reach much further than the few discontent locals, possibly even off planet."

"Off planet, you say?" the Chancellor looked at him piercingly, his thoughts turning suddenly into other, darker direction. Lukka and Anakin shared an uneasy glance, the taste of the Force growing progressively more bitter the longer the Chancellor silently mused.

"Why would that be important? Your Excellency?" Anakin prodded, his impatience a bright blue note in the air.

"It's possible that some forces other than those we are aware of may wish to prolong the conflict on Haruun Kal," the man replied calmly enough, focusing on them again, his face smoothing.

"Why?" Anakin asked, even as Lukka was shaking his head.

"I've checked the most likely suspects," he admitted, his hands clenching at the memory of the Haruun Kal underbelly, of its dirty, oily feeling. "There is no connection between the terrorist group responsible and any organised crime cartel, no weapon or drugs smuggling, no human trafficking. At least, nothing at the scale that would prompt anyone to meddle with local politics."

"Those are the most likely suspects, yes," the Chancellor leaned back, the look he aimed at Lukka difficult to read. "And I am sorry to hear that you had been exposed to them in the past."

A short silence descended upon them. Lukka busied himself with his blue juice, not eager to explain, to even remember the horrors of the war against the Empire, its ugly reality and impossible choices. An old anger stirred in him, sour and hurt all at once, the Force only too willing to turn it into a savage weapon…

"But if it's not them, then who?" Anakin softly asked, breaking the awkward silence.

"I am unsure, as of yet," the Chancellor admitted, his eyes again gaining that far-away look of an overly-active mind. "There are a few possibilities that come to mind, but I’d like a chance to investigate before committing to any course of action."

"Will the Council agree to send another Jedi there so soon?" the boy sent a disbelieving glance Lukka's way, scepticism writ large upon his face. They were well-aware of the Masters'… disapproval of them both, their disfavour likely to result in an unwillingness to listen.

"While the Jedi are valuable servants of the Republic, there are not the only ones. My position allows me access to many secrets, many venues, and a wider reach than a lone agent, no matter how resourceful, can manage," he nodded at Lukka, no sting in his words. "Give me some time to investigate and we shall see what can be uncovered."

There was a whisper in the Force, subtle and wisp-like, tugging at Lukka, a warning and a promise both…

"You know who did this," he said, the truth crystallising in his mind along with his words, ice-fragile and sharp enough to draw blood.

"I have my suspicions," the man allowed, his head cocked to the side in curiosity. "Yet I am loathe to cast accusations without looking into the matter first. Rest assured, you will be the first to know, once I have something actionable."

A part of Lukka bristled at that, demanding answers now, wishing to act without delay, without mercy for those responsible. The Chancellor smiled slightly, as if sensing his reluctance.

"I will, of course, keep a close eye on the Haruun Kal peace talks. Perhaps I should send a special envoy… Yes. Yes, it would be a pity if anything disturbed the negotiations."

"Thank you, your Excellency," Anakin said, slumping slightly into Lukka's arm. He glanced his way, suddenly slightly ashamed. He had not realised how much of his unease Anakin must have picked up, how it must have bothered him. He made a conscious effort to relax.

"Thank you," he echoed, his eyes finding the Chancellor's in the darkening office. "It means a lot to me."

"Please, think nothing of it," Chancellor Palpatine dismissed with an easy wave of a pale hand. "After all, what is such a favour among friends? Any of your friends would have offered, Lukka, I am quite sure. Anyone who cares about you at all."

  

***

 

"Padawan," Mace called across the training chamber, the practicing man either failing to detect his presence or pretending to. Mace had an ugly suspicion which was more likely; after all, _he_ had no reason to hide behind durasteel tight barriers.

"Master Windu," Ekkreth panted, deactivating his lightsaber but not putting it away, the dark handle almost blending with his mechanical hand. The sudden absence of its buzzing song made the silence between them more pronounced than usual.

"Walk with me," Mace requested, not willing to stay in the practice chamber, the faint echo of violence in the air aggravating. "I have some news which may interest you."

Ekkreth complied without a world, falling into step with Mace, his form still radiating battle-readiness, that unique focused attention which made the Force around him sharp and potent, almost bristling with cutting-thin edges. Mace had had many a complaint about that, its sheer s _trangeness_ making others, especially the younger Padawans, very uncomfortable. When confronted, Ekkreth had seemed honestly surprised, unaware of any offence he could be causing. Unable or unwilling to alter his behaviour, as always.

"The peace conference on Haruun Kal has reached a final agreement yesterday evening," Mace began softly, his voice barely carrying in the high corridor of the west training wing. "The treaty will be signed today by the representatives of all concerned parties, with the Republic acting as an unbiased mediator."

"That's- that's good. Really good. Did the Kham'glinn's regained any of their territories?"

"No as such, but they have been granted access to some of them, for religious purposes, as I understand. There has been some easing of travelling restrictions, as well."

"That much gained? The Kham'glinn's must be delighted."

Mace glanced at Ekkreth, noting his calm countenance, and spent the next few minutes discussing the treaty. It seemed that the young man _was_ taking his training to heart. Well, at least his negotiation and politics lessons, if the increasingly smooth evasions were anything to go by.

Then again, he had been worryingly silent ever since that unfortunate raid on the terrorists' base.

"There have been no further bomb attacks, despite your misgivings," he finally probed.

"I'm glad to hear that," his Padawan replied calmly enough, eyes focused straight ahead. It was like talking to a white wall. Why wouldn't the stubborn youth _talk_ to him?

"Are you, Apprentice?" he threw out, baiting, watching- yes, the muscles in that tanned jaw jumped, clenched. The Force remained distressingly blank, unresponsive to Mace's touch, but he was slowly learning to read his Padawan through more mundane means.

Ekkreth stopped, abruptly turning towards him, feet set and shoulders straight.

"You must think very poorly of me, Master Windu."

"Any opinion I may hold about you is a direct result of your own actions, Padawan. Your shields and evasions make any other kind of judgement impossible," he replied quietly, wrong-footed by this sudden confrontation. Still, he was ready. "Your past actions are questionable at best, to say nothing about your life before joining the Order."

"You know _nothing_ about my life before joining the Order."

"And that's the problem," he did his best not to raise his voice. They were already attracting attention. "I wish you would talk to me. Maybe then I would be able to trust you and put my doubts aside."

"I have done nothing to earn your mistrust," Ekkreth insisted, hands clenching- There was a lightsaber in his right hand. Had he drawn it, or simply neglected to put it away after his practice? Mace couldn’t recall, his thoughts strangely sluggish.

"You have a short memory, Padawan. But this is not a suitable place for this conversation," he glanced at the passing Jedi, their eyes drawn to them, to the spectacle they must be making. "Let's go to the west-"

"If you have something to say to me, Master Windu, at least have the courage to say it to my face," Ekkreth interrupted him, his tone sharp, face changing, pulling into an ugly grimace. "And never mind the audience, everyone here knows what the Council thinks of me. You're not subtle in your disapproval."

Mace stilled, the hush in the wide corridor far from natural, the Force-

The Force, moments ago still and bland, was now stirring around the two of them, circling like a hunting wespa-cat, cold, almost freezing-

"You should mind your words, Padawan," he said sternly, thinking, weighing the risks.

The Force darkened slightly, grew bitter, shivering with Ekkreth's emotions. A nearby youngling took a step back, her eyes trained on them with equal fear and fascination.

"Should I listen, then, Master Windu? While you enumerate my numerous fallings?" Ekkreth offered, his tone polite, false. He bowed slightly, tense and ready, never once taking his guarded eyes from Mace's form.

Mace hesitated for the briefest moment, the oppressive rumble of the Force warning him away, the ring of spectators serving as a distant deterrent, the memories of his Padawan after the bombing, lost and withdrawn, gentling his irritation-

"No? Nothing?" another smile, sharp and cold, with too many teeth. "Pity."

Ekkreth bowed again and turned, his back to Mace, unprotected, a dazzling change- Dazzling and mocking, not a show of trust but a dismissal, because Mace was _evidently_ not a threat-

"You have spent the last year avoiding our questions, misdirecting and lying," Mace said, his voice carrying far in the deathly silent corridor. "What you _have_ admitted to is concerning, if not outright prosecutable. Why don't we start with that?"

Ekkreth stopped a few paces from him, still facing away, his hands held loosely at his sides, the lightsaber nowhere in sight. Mace took no comfort in this. He could feel, almost _see,_ the Dark Side rolling around them, goading, could feel its thorns and deadly pitfalls.

"What would you like to know, Master Windu?" Ekkreth asked, his breath leaving a ghost of white in the suddenly freezing air. "What would put your mind at ease?"

"Truth," he replied instantly, a thousand questions crowding in his head. He clearly sensed that this was the moment of honesty, that he had a chance to glean some answers, if only he could choose _the right questions-_ "You have lied about your previous Master. What had really happened to him?"

_What had made you so distrustful of me?_

Now Ekkreth turned around, hands held forcibly still, his face-

"He was killed in a duel," he said in a dead voice.

"By whom?"

"Not by me."

True. There was pain and anger and resentment in Ekkreth's voice, in the Force, old fear and sadness, but no lies.

"You watched this happen," Mace said without a thought, a sudden burst of insight leaving him almost breathless. "You were there."

"Yes."

"Who killed him?"

Who _could_ kill a Jedi Knight in a _duel_ without any of them knowing about it? The galaxy was vast, yes, but violence of this kind always left an echo, a call felt by all those sensitive enough. Mace could still remember the shudder that pierced him at Master Nesh'd death.

"Who did this?" he asked, _demanded_ again.

A strange look stole over Ekkreth's face, the Dark Side crowding, almost dancing around them, those sturdy mental shields trembling-

"His previous student," Ekkreth finally said.

True, but- There was something _else_ in the bitter air around them, in the cold fire in Ekkreth's eyes, something… old. Old and powerful and _hurt_ , made doubly dangerous because of that. Mace could almost taste it, like ashes on his tongue, in his veins, could almost _see_ a tall shape looming in the air between them-

Almost-

"Enough," his Padawan interrupted his concentration, tiredly shaking his head, turning away-

"We are not done, apprentice," he rebooked, but it was useless, the tread of an idea was already slipping from him, thin and insubstantial like mist.

"We are."

Mace could only watch him walk away, silently running through the ramifications, the questions arising in his mind, each more pressing than the one before- The Force spiked in his blood, warning him against pressing just then, sharp and anxious. His questions would have to wait.

Ekkreth walked away calmly, silently. Unchallenged. The ring of spectators parted to let him through, none willing to touch him, to get too close to that vicious Force presence, all barbed edges and cruel winds. They parted easily, watching as he walked away, taking his dead with him.

 

***

 

Lukka walked through the light corridors in a daze, his thoughts whirling, his hands still numb from the cold. Those questions, _why_ did Master Windu _keep asking_ , it was another bloody interrogation about his past, about Ben, what did it even matter now, and that kriffing _accusation-_ And he couldn't tell Master Windu the truth, he simply c _ouldn't-_ A mere thought of it made him cold and clammy, something inside him curling up in shame and horror. 

Of course, his stupid, _stupid_ actions today weren't much better, _why_ had he done that, he had spent so long avoiding open confrontation with Master Windu, and now- He trembled, from cold or from anger, he wasn't sure which. Was there any difference?

There used to be, he remembered distantly. His anger used to be a hot thing, sudden and violent like a Tatooine sandstorm, and just as brief, not this- this cold, savage wrath, fuelled by fear, creeping through his veins, oily and unreal like the carve on Dagobah. When had that changed?

When had _he_ changed?

"- Anakin, I have told you so many times before."

He jerked, the name catching his attention, his eyes flying across the wide hall, landing on his-

Landing at Anakin, dressed in Padawan travelling robes, his face mulish, Obi-Wan next to him. Those desert-blue eyes caught his, then casually looked away, at the travelling gear next to them. They were leaving.

Right, that new mission at Glishnaa, something about a trade dispute. Anakin had talked about it only a few days ago. Lukka had known they would be leaving, if not when.

He hesitated, the draft in the wide halls making him tremble. He should keep walking. He and Anakin hadn't advertised their friendship, party out of habit, partly because Lukka hadn't wanted his reputation dragging Anakin down. For all that Anakin had protested, insisted he didn’t care, he had complied with Lukka's wishes. They both understood the value of secrets shared and kept.

Or so Lukka had thought. Now, seeing the furtive glances sent his way, feeling the slight tremor in the Force, he wasn't so sure.

Immaterial. He should keep walking, he had done enough damage already, there was no need to expose Anakin to more speculation, more whispers. And he would understand, for all these covert glances, he would not acknowledge Lukka, not without his elder's permission, would simply walk away…

But their friendship was nothing to be ashamed of. And they had not had a chance to say good bye.

Kriff, he really must be losing it-

"Anakin!"

His call carried through the wide entrance chamber. They stopped mere steps before the door leading to the landing platform, Obi-Wan surprised, Anakin- Anakin not managing to stifle his smile. In a few strides, he was beside them.

"Master Kenobi," he greeted politely, holding tightly to his shields.

"Padawan Ekkreth, was it?" Obi-Wan nodded back, his face calm enough, the Force around him far more eloquent. Lukka quickly looked away, not up to dealing with this rendering of his old teacher, that young face at once alien and not…

He quickly looked away, down at Anakin. At his brilliant smile and radiant Force presence.

"Anakin," he smiled back, already feeling calmer, more content. "I see you're leaving."

"Yes, the last report came this morning, so we can finally go and deal with the problem," the boy took a step closer, his face open and so, so young…

"Then I guess this is a good bye, for now," Lukka gently touched Anakin's head, the bright hair silky beneath his left palm, then his temple and shoulder, the gesture coming to him from warm, dusty memories, flowing so easily… He smiled again. "May the Force be with you."

Anakin practically beamed, his own hand flittering over his chest, right over his heart, touching only for an instant before flying to his mouth and eyes, small hand quick like a desert mouse, radiating warm happiness in the Force.

"And with you, Lukka."

The moment lingered, stretched, the two of them enclosed in a small bubble of contentment, the Force flowing freely between them. It was strange but wonderful, and liberating, and something he had never expected to experience…

"Anakin."

The boy blinked, stiffening slightly and looking back. Obi-Wan was standing a few meters behind them, face unreadable.

"It's time for us to go."

Anakin nodded and moved away, Obi-Wan instantly placing a hand on his shoulder, leading him away. Lukka stood and watched, alone in the darkening chamber.

 

***

 

The summon came almost two weeks later. It was delivered by a protocol droid, of all things, a very, very old-fashioned card-like invitation, the normally flimsy sheet stiff and thick under his fingers, off-white, screaming _money_ and _privilege._ Worst of all, it was delivered to the entrance hall's Guardian, passed to Master Windu, _then_ finally given to Lukka. For all that the protective covering was unbroken, he could practically feel his teacher's gaze boring into him as he broke the seal.

Inside was a politely worded invitation to visit the Chancellor's Office the following evening.

Lukka paused, unsure of his feelings at the moment. He could only guess that the Chancellor finally had some news about the investigation into Haruun Kal terrorist cells, and he _had_ promised to let Lukka know as soon as possible… Still, he wished the man hadn't contacted him so publicly.

"Anything you wish to share with me, Padawan?"

He looked up at Master Windu, struggling to keep his face neutral. Ever since the confrontation in the west training corridor, their interactions had cooled significantly, to the point of becoming truly uncomfortable.

"I've been invited to the Chancellor's office," he volunteered.

Master Windu's face shifted just slightly, his Force signature becoming louder, denser. Disapproving. Lukka sighed, looking away. He couldn't see a way to mend their relationship, not one that wouldn't rely on admitting his secrets and end with his total submission. That was… unfortunate. He had truly hoped for a dedicated mentor, someone to teach and guide him, someone-

Well, there was no point in wishing for impossible. He was fine, he'd deal, as he had dealt with sudden sandstorms and Tusken Raiders' attacks, with destroyed planets and impossible missions.

"The Chancellor's patronage can be a dangerous thing," Master Windu said quietly, his face and tone forcibly controlled.

"I wouldn’t call it _that,_ Master Windu," he protested, because _patronage?_ That sounded like something out of a holodrama or a spy novel, something that happened to princesses and misplaced heirs, not simple pilots from the Outer Rim. He was hardly _Leia._

"Call it what you will, apprentice, it does not change the nature of the Chancellor's…support. Nor the risks involved."

" _What_ risks?"

Master Windu was quiet for a moment, looking at him intently, the Force around them swirling gently, pleasantly cool, almost refreshing in its play. Lukka eased back the tiniest bit, taking comfort in the cold embrace.

"The Jedi Order does not look favourably upon the political involvement of its members," Master Windu answered blandly.

"Political involvement," Lukka repeated with disbelieve, because, truly? Him and politics? He still got the minor branches of the Republic government wrong sometimes, to the quiet despair of Master Janni-nne.

"Politics are unpleasant at the best of times, and politicians can be ruthless," Master Windu continued, undeterred. "There are many who would do you harm out of jealousy, or try to use you to achieve their own ends."

Lukka almost scoffed.

"I can't see _how_ they'd try to use me. I'm hardly that important."

"You have the Chancellor's ear, Padawan, and his interest. There are not many beings in the Galaxy who could say the same."

"It's just an invitation," he shrugged and looked away, uncomfortable.

"Nothing is _just_ when it comes to politics, Padawan."

Lukka stayed silent, mostly because he agreed. He remembered Chancellor Palpatine's active, shadowed mind, and knew to be wary. True, he knew less than nothing about politics and current political landscape, but he had spent years watching Leia's and Mon Mothma's efforts to drum up support for the Alliance, and many years more navigating the delicate balance between satisfying Jabba's people and scraping enough venue to survive in a dusty hell of Tatooine. He knew about power struggles and backstabbing ambition, about contradictory interests and unsavoury deals. He had just always viewed it as something that happened to other people.

"Such patronage is sure to draw attention to you, put you in the public eye," Master Windu stated quietly, his eyes boring into Lukka's, deep and dark in his still face. "A high profile is not something a Jedi Knight should aspire to. It would be doubly unwise in your- unusual circumstances."

"How so?" he had to ask, because Master Windu didn't know, _couldn't_ know-

 "While we have managed to dismiss the initial accusations against you, there are those who will remember. Not to mention Count Dooku himself."

Dooku.

Something in him stilled, hardened. He slowly turned away from Master Windu, looking out through a tall window, taking in absolutely nothing of the view.

"What can he do?" he forced through suddenly unwieldy lips. He could almost taste the blood at the back of his mouth, smell his flesh _burning-_

"He has not visited Coruscant since your- confrontation," Master Windu lowered his voice almost to a whisper, a small current of the Force tugging at his robes unhappily. "But he remains an influential figure, with vast resources and many friends. Some of them situated in Coruscant's higher political circles. Attending the Chancellor, gaining his attention and patronage, will most certainly draw his attention."

Dooku. A Sith and Master Nash's murderer.

"Thank you, Master Windu," he turned around and smiled, ice crystalizing behind his eyes. "I'll remember your advice."

 

***

 

The Chancellor office was vast and richly, if tastefully, decorated, its many rooms echoing, almost vibrating with the important decisions made there every day, every hour. Now, darkened and almost empty, they stretched wide and jawing. They should have swallowed any one man left in their depth. And perhaps they would have, if that man was anyone other than Sheev Palpatine.

What kind of a name was _Sheev,_ anyway, Lukka wondered at the back of his mind. Who would name a kid that? He fought down the insane urge to ask the man.

"Your Excellency," he bowed slightly, just as Master Fer'idd-on had drummed into his had was proper. "Thank you for your kind invitation."

"Think nothing of it, Lukka," the Chancellor welcomed him warmly, a slight touch on his arm directing him to the wide window. "How have you been?"

Small talk. Joy.

"I'm well, sir, thank you. And yourself?"

"As well as can be expected, when one gets older and older every day," the Chancellor smiled. "And how is young Anakin? I have not had any news from him since he left Coruscant."

"Nor have I, your Excellency, but I understand that it's normal. I'm sure he's fine."

And he was. Mission mandated radio silence or not, he was absolutely certain that he would have felt it if anything had happened to Anakin.

"Good, good. It is a relief to hear. Now, I can see that you are curious, so let us dispense with the usual pleasantries. I have some news that should be of interest to you."

"Have you confirmed your suspicions, sir?" he asked, trying not to sound too eager, trying not to _demand_ explanations-

"You could say that," the Chancellor gave him a knowing look, nodding at the seating arrangement next to one of the bay windows. "Let us have a seat and I will endeavour to satisfy your… curiosity."

"Forgive me, your Excellency. I'm grateful for your help," he replied, calling upon the cooling, calming stream of the Force. "I just wish to make sure the culprits are dealt with and can’t hurt anyone else."

"Understandable. It must have caused you considerable distress, to have your worries so easily dismissed by your teachers."

"It’s been a long month," he looked away, into the wide office. "I'd like to put the whole matter to rest."

"Of course. Let us get down to business, then," the Chancellor brought his hands together, looking at Lukka over the interlaced fingers, eyes bright and clear. "You were correct in assuming that the terrorist group captured were not responsible for the sting of the recent attacks. Their methods seem similar on the surface, but their ethnicity and lack of political backing reduced the risk they posed. They had spent the last months paralysed by inner power struggles and lack of resources. They had certainly _not_ planned and executed an almost successful assassination attempt at the High President's son. They would be unable to."

Lukka breathed out, some of the tension _finally_ leaching from his shoulders. It was a relief, of sorts, to hear his vague feelings and Force predictions given voice and form by someone else, rationalised and explained.

"My agents targeted the group you have fingered as the most likely culprits," the Chancellor continued, his voice steady and matter-of-fact. "It took some time and effort to infiltrate their structures, I understand that they have been spooked by the recent arrests. In the end, however, a few of my operatives have managed to gain their trust and confirm our suspicions. They were the ones to organise and carry out the terrorist attack you have witnessed."

The Chancellor gently touched one of his hands, making him realise that he had clenched them into tight fists, the tendrils and vires straining to contain the emotions in him.

"You were right, Lukka," the man said, almost gently.

He had to close his eyes for a moment, breathing deeply, the Force around him bright and fierce, triumphant.

"So, what happened to them?" he managed to ask. "Were they arrested? I haven't heard about another process."

"Ah… Yes, that is where the things get a bit more complicated."

Lukka froze, for a terrible second suspecting-

"They didn’t go free," he more stated than asked, _willing_ it to be true, chilled by a mere possibility…

"They paid for their crimes, I assure you," the Chancellor replied slowly, his words for once soft and muted, the power of his voice contained to a familiar murmur. "But you must realise that a public trial would be… unwise."

"Unwise," he repeated a bit woodenly, not liking the sound of that.

"Extremely unwise, as it would expose the Jedi Order to criticism and ridicule for failing to capture the real offenders," the Chancellor nodded. "Not to mention, the true masterminds behind the whole hideous scheme would remain beyond the reach of the law-"

"The true masterminds? Who are they?" he asked instantly, interrupting and not caring in that instant, a freezing blue flame igniting within him-

"Oh, it’s quite a long story, and difficult to understand for someone not immersed in the political arena," the Chancellor waved his hand, a kind smile taking out any possible sting out of his words.

"Then explain it," Lukka insisted, almost ordered, before he caught himself and gentled his tone to something less demanding. "Please. I want to understand."

Chancellor Palpatine gave him a long look, his kind face for once sharp and searching, the Force around him alive with possibilities-

"Very well," he finally nodded. "If that is what you want."

"It is," Lukka nodded back, that bright flame of vengeance, of _justice,_ spurring him on. "Thank you, your Excellency."

There was a momentary silence as the older man adjusted his position, those light eyes turned inwards.

"To fully understand the situation, you must first understand the nature of the conflict," the Chancellor finally said. "Tell me, what is the reason behind the prolonged discord on Haruun Kal?"

Lukka furrowed his brow, sensing something more behind the question, but still only coming up with the obvious answer.

"The Blimbosh and the human settlers have trouble coexisting on the same planet," he said, grimacing as he sensed a dissonance within that response. He tried again. "The Blimbosh resent humans who took away their territories and denied them equal right on their own world. The humans… The humans fear the Blimbosh. They know next to nothing about them and blame them for every misfortune, from bad harvest to national disasters. The fanatics on both sides only inflame the conflict… No," he shook his head, frustrated. The song of the Force echoed through his veins, just a touch out of rhythm with his words. "That's not it, not exactly. But it's as close as I can describe it."

"It is a good first effort," the Chancellor said calmly, his head caned to the side curiously. "Now, ask yourself another question: why the human settlers broke previous accords and infringed upon Blimbosh territory?"

"Because- because they grew too numerous and needed more space? More resources?" Lukka guessed.

"Did Haruum Kal seem overpopulated to you?"

"No…" he slowly shook his head, recalling the vast expanses between cities, the prevalence of houses over skyscrapers, so unlike Coruscant. "No, the space didn’t seem to be a problem. So, they needed the resources?"

"Very good, Lukka," the Chancellor praised with a faint smile. "What kind of resources?"

"I don't-" he shrugged, a bit helplessly.

"Think, my friend. What resources did the natives possess in their land that could be of use to the settlers?"

"Water and food?" he tried the obvious answer, only to wince as the Force grated on his bones in disagreement. "No, not that."

What else could be needed? What else could be _found_ in the forests and mountains? The Force whispered, faintly but insistently, of past tragedies and lives lost.

"Components to drug production?" he tried, remembering Jabba the Hutt and many, many lives dedicated to building his spice empire, but- no, not that.

"Mining sites?" he ventured, recalling the tales of Jedha, mined dry and then destroyed by the Empire, and yes, that was closer, that was _almost_ the right answer- "Some kind of mineral, occurring on Blimbosh lands," he stated with a grim satisfaction, looking up at the Chancellor-

"Remarkable," Chancellor Palpatine said softly, his eyes trained on Lukka. "How did you come to this conclusion?"

He almost shrugged, a bit uncomfortable with the man's regard.

"I just- The Force is a powerful ally. I just listen," was all he said.

"So I see," the Chancellor nodded slowly, thoughtfully, before explaining: "The main reason for the continuing hostilities, besides usual ignorance, is a rare mineral called djaa-mnond. Have you ever heard of it?"

"No, your Excellency."

"Perhaps that is not so surprising, as it is only useful in a narrow field of neuro-mechanics. It is used to power up the robots and machines performing the most delicate operations, be it a complicated surgery or producing a filigree nano-transmitter. The beauty of djaa-mnond lays in its frankly astronomical power. You see, Lukka, should you use the traditional method of powering up the neuro-mechanical devices, you would need a lot of costly, high-quality fuel and much time to refile those devices nearly constantly. _However,_ should you use djaa-mnond as the main fuelling component…" the Chancellor shook his head in gentle disbelief. "Such devices can work for much longer, at a better speed, guarantying a greater profit."

"Profit?" Lukka repeated, something ugly and oozing sneaking behind his clenched teeth. "Is that what it is about? All those lives lost because of a _greater profit?_ "

"Such is the way of this galaxy, I'm afraid. Every being with consciousness desires power, and for most, that means more currency," the Chancellor said, absolutely sure, his voice echoing around them, reaching down, down to Lukka's bones and dark places between. "It is, at times, disheartening, what some would do to achieve their ends."

Lukka looked away, jaw clenched, fists clenched, his whole being locked down against the powerful, almost frightening urge to _act,_ to reach out through the cold space and find those responsible, to track them down and _make them pay_ -

"Who are they?" he ground out, eyes forcibly trained straight ahead. Deep breaths. Calm, peace, _think_ before you act. Deep breaths. "I had looked everywhere while on Haruun Kal, I hadn't found any trace of illegal smuggling rings centred around this mineral."

How could he have _missed_ that?

"You need not blame yourself, my friend," the Chancellor gently touched his arm, bringing his eyes and focus back to him. "You found no trace of illegal activity, because the mining and trade of djaa-mnond is legal. And entirely in the hands of the current government."

Lukka stilled, an ugly suspicion rising in his chest-

"Did the Haruun Kal government organise these terrorist attacks?" he asked very quietly, hardly daring to entertain the notion, but he had _seen_ what a legal government could do to its people, how it could leave them powerless, homeless, their only family a pair of smoking corpses-

"No. No, certainly not," the Chancellor replied instantly, his sharp eyes focused unerringly on Lukka. "Are you feeling alright, Lukka? You have gone pale. Here, have something to drink. Perhaps we should not discuss such unpleasant matters, after all."

"No, no, I'm fine. Just some- bad memories," he grimaced and tried to banish the taste of oily smoke from his mouth. "Truly, your Excellency, it's nothing. Please, tell me more."

"If you are sure," the man reluctantly nodded, taking a drink himself. "Well, I can certainly understand your disquiet. The notion that a government could target its own citizens in such a manner… No, fortunately, things have not progressed so far. It is not the Haruun Kal President that is responsible."

"Who, then?" Lukka asked again, tense and growing increasingly tired of the circular conversation, of so many horrifying possibilities floating through his head…

"Who do you think?" the Chancellor asked back, his tone once again taking that half-probing, half-lulling cadence. "We know that the bone of the contention is djaa-mnond mineral, in search of which the settlers had antagonised the local population. We know that it is of immense value and is being sold legally by the government. You had rightly suspected that the roots of the whole plot reach quite high, most certainly off planet. Who do _you_ think is responsible?"

The Force spiked, sharp and itching with Lukka's frustration. He wanted _answers_ , goddammit, not more riddles-

"Come now, Lukka," the Chancellor smiled, serene and supremely confident. "We both know that you do not lack intelligence. Who is responsible for these attacks?"

With a barely restrained huff, he stood up and walked over to the wide window, trying to cool his temper. He took a moment, breathing deeply and calmly, sending his impatience and frustration out into the Force, its cool presence smoothing his nerves, letting him look further than a single moment in time.

This was not Master Windu and the Council, probing for weakness, eager to point out his ignorance. The Chancellor had done nothing but invest time and resources to help him. The last he could do was try not to fail the man's confidence in him. Besides, he had always enjoyed a challenge.

"Who is responsible for the attacks?" he repeated quietly, almost absent-mindedly, his thoughts turning to the question once again, for the hundredth time at least, but now armed with new facts, looking for new angles…

If the main problem was the mining of the djaa-mnond mineral, but it wasn't the Kham'glinn's that attacked the civilians… Who else would dare to antagonise the human population? To fight to restore some of the privileges the Kham'glinn's were due? Who would risk it?

In the past, in _his_ past, who _had_ risked everything to fight an oppressive government?

"Those actively preparing the terrorist strikes were true believers in the cause," he said slowly, remembering his fellow Rebels, all of them with a hollow fire burning in their eyes, lit by the Empire's crimes. "But they are not the architects behind the attacks."

Who were the masterminds, then? The commanders, the generals? Who would gain anything from the situation? The Force stirred excitedly, whispering, pulling at his attention like a young puppy, its teeth razor sharp.

"Is there anyone in the Haruun Kal government that would wish for the High President to fail?" he took a stab in the dark, recalling many stories Leia had told him about the power struggles in the Imperial Court, each one chilling him to the bone. "Anyone that could use the hostilities to stage a coup?"

"It is an interesting question," the Chancellor replied after a small pause, his words measured. "And there are some individuals that would undoubtedly take every opportunity, even one as grim as genocide of their own people. But no, none of them were responsible. This time."

Not a failed coup, then. Not Kham'glinn's, not a local crime ring, not- The answer was right _there,_ he could feel its shape in the Force, grim and oozing blood, if he could only _reach_ it-

The Force surged, its freezing wind forcing the word to a standstill for the merest moment, just for a fraction of a second, but in that time his thoughts soared through the cluttered facts and words and there, _right there-_

"It is not the Haruun Kal President that is responsible," he said, his own voice quiet and unimportant next to the roar of the Force. "That's what you said, your Excellency, those exact words. Not the Haruun Kal President, not its government. But if the roots of the plot reach off planet… It is another government, then, or a league of them. A hostile action taken against Haruun Kal without revealing themselves and risking an outright war, using the Blimbosh as a convenient scapegoat."

He turned around to look at the Chancellor, his shoulders relaxing minutely, the swirling tendrils of the Force putting him at ease.

The man regarded him silently for a few moments, his expression lost in the darkening office.

"That is a very astute observation," he finally said. "And a good guess. You are almost right. Come, my friend. Sit down and I will explain."

A good guess. But not a correct one. He sat down, trying not to frown. He had been so sure…

"Now, you have done a marvellous job of going through and eliminating the potential culprits," the Chancellor calmly praised, leaning back and canting his head in Lukka's direction, never once taking his eyes off him. "You have missed the real enemy just by a hair. It was not a foreign government, my friend, but rather a foreign bank association."

What?

"A bank?" he asked, a bit faintly. A kriffing _bank_ sent out young people to commit suicide attacks? How did it even-

"A powerful bank association, particularly strong in the Mid Rim, but with expansionist ambitions, fighting to stay somewhat independent from the Banking Clan… They have long been building their power base."

"But how- Why would they do this?" Lukka shook his head, not in disagreement, but in disbelief. "What would they gain in helping Blimbosh achieve equality and independence?"

"Ah, but my friend, their object was not to see one side of the conflict triumph. Quite the opposite."

The opposite? But there were only two options in a war, to win or to die, and who would choose the opposite? Lukka shook his head, dismayed.

"I don’t understand, your Excellency," he reluctantly admitted.

"The bank association in question has built its power and influence on provision and distribution of djaa-mnond," the Chancellor explained, his tone factual, no sigh of ridicule on his face. "They have made a fortune on buying it in bulk on Haruun Kal and selling it further afield on triple its original price."

"And people bought it from them?" Lukka couldn’t help but interrupt. "I'm sorry, your Excellency, but why wouldn't potential buyers just get it from Haruun Kal themselves?"

"And risk going to the war-torn planet? Without any guarantee that their safety won’t be compromised by a terrorist posing as a civilian, a security officer, a fellow merchant?" the man shook his head. "Not everyone is as courageous as you, Lukka."

Courageous. He wasn't, he just- Uncle Own used to call him an idiot child, grumbling about foolish buggers who thought they were immortal. Foolish like your father, he would say, and as likely to get yourself killed.

Lukka swallowed and looked down, at his mismatched hands.

"The bank association possesses other venues, of course, but none can hope to match the profit they make on selling the djaa-mnond mineral," the Chancellor continued. "The ongoing conflict has not only discouraged competition, but also ensured that the prices of a bulk purchase remain low and stable. Should the conflict end, either with humans destroying the Blimbosh population, or with Blimbosh regaining some of their territories…"

"The prices and conditions would change," Lukka finished, following along, the Force whispering along the track. "If the humans won, then other buyers would gain access to Haruun Kal and the prices would pummel. If the Blimbosh won, regained even a fraction of their land, then some mining sites would be lost and the prices for the bank would rise."

"Good, Lukka, good. Precisely. For the prices to remain unchanged, for the profit to remain large, the fighting needs to continue. The status quo must be preserved."

That's-" he shook his head, a helpless anger igniting in him, in his heart and deeper still. "That's disgusting."

"Yet such is our reality, my friend."

He could change it, Lukka thought, a half-fevered idea blooming in his mind. He had that possibility, that potential for power, Vader had said so, if he would only reach and-

He shook his head violently.

"What has been done?" he asked, trying to drown these dangerous, _mad_ thoughts. "Have they faced justice, your Excellency?"

Not as good as a firing squad, but he would take that.

"In a manner of speaking," the Chancellor patted his hand and rose, slowly walking along the wide window to the desk dominating the main room of the office. His hand briefly trailed its polished surface.

"The problem with conducting an independent, secret investigation, my young friend, lies in the necessity of keeping our findings secret as well," he said mildly, turning to look at Lukka.

"But-" he rose, his steps taking him closer to the Chancellor, the sheer _wrongness_ of letting those kriffing bastards go free grating on his nerves, loosening his tongue. "Your Excellency, this cannot be allowed to continue, they- Their actions could endanger the cease-fire. They need to be stopped, they have to _pay_."

The Force rose around him, under his hands, eager to become his weapon, a fine blade of ice and darkness, his to command and wield- He twitched his palms, angrily banishing the phantom touch, his eyes trained on the man before him.

"They do," the Chancellor agreed, his cultured voice dropping to a deep murmur, drawing Lukka even closer. "And rest assured, they have. Perhaps not as publicly as you would like, but they have paid most dearly for their actions."

Lukka stilled, watching the Chancellor intently, his whole being straining to see the shape behind the indistinct, pleased purr of the Force.

"You did something, sir," he stated more than asked. "Something- secret. Illegal."

"Oh, nonsense," the Chancellor smiled, a thin and self-satisfied thing hiding more than his teeth. "I am the leader of the Republic, I can hardly go around breaking the laws that I had vowed to uphold. Besides, even had I wished to, the strange misfortunes that had recently befallen the bank association are beyond the reach of the High Chancellor. My position is based on political influence, not on economic games."

"Strange misfortunes?"

"Why, yes, it seems they have run into a spot of bad luck in the last few days," the man gestured carelessly, his slim hand a white blur in the dark office. "Apparently, they had a displeasure of being unexpectedly audited, and found in the wrong on several accounts. There have also been some rumours about investors pulling out and bad gambles on the stock market… I have not really been following all those news, I'm far too busy with my duties, but apparently, their assets and power base have been badly hit, if not permanently destroyed. Such a pity."

Lukka hardly dared to breathe, the deep voice echoing in his ears, in his sinew and bone, reaching down- That the Chancellor would do that, that he would commit acts that Lukka was sure were at the very edge of the law, if not beyond that- economical games or not, how could he- _political influence_ , he had said, could it be- That the Chancellor would go so far, risk so much, all in order to punish those deserving- That he would tell Lukka about it, _admit_ it, just so he wouldn’t be buried under his own helpless anger and worry, that was-

He gave the man a deep, slow nod, almost a bow, his throat tight with emotion.

"Thank you, your Excellency," he finally managed, his voice hoarse. He cleared his throat before continuing, looking the Chancellor straight into eye. "I haven't heard those rumours myself, thank you for sharing them."

"I should not have, truly," the Chancellor replied quietly. "Spreading rumours is such an undignified habit…"

"I won't tell anyone else, then," Lukka assured. "I wouldn't want to- cultivate bad habits."

"I'm glad to hear that, my friend."

They lapsed in a brief silence, the space between them alive with the smooth twirl of the Force, sharp with delight. Lukka smiled slightly at the sensation of it playing along his shoulders, between his hair, reminded briefly of the hugs he had been given in other, happier times.

"Thank you, your Excellency," he said again, the sentiment deeply felt. To know what the root of all that pain and suffering had been, no matter how vulgar, how disgusting that root was, to know that those responsible had been made to pay for their crimes… It felt immensely freeing.

"I'm sorry to have taken so much of your time," he added, looking out at the dark skies. He hadn’t realised just how long their conversation had lasted, but now he could feel the fatigue dawning near. Too many emotion, too much strain against his shields.

"Think nothing of it, Lukka, I am always delighted to see you. And I do not say that just to be polite, you know," the Chancellor looked at him with a knowing smile. "You are an interesting person to know. I would be pleased if you visited me again, time permitting."

"Thank you, your Excellency," he said again, suddenly feeling every bit the unrefined farm boy, unsure how to take that offer. He was grateful, but- But there was still _something_ at the very back of his mind that whispered caution.

"Excellent, I am sure we will have many interesting discussions in the future," the Chancellor apparently took his fumbling words as an agreement, wonderful. The man came around the wide desk and put a friendly hand on his shoulder, slowly leading him towards the door.

"Thank you again, sir, for conducting the investigation," Lukka said to fill the silence. The Chancellor's office really was ludicrously large. "I have no idea how you uncovered all that."

"Dedicated agents and a lot of resources, and, most importantly, my young friend…" the Chancellor stopped them just before the wide door panel, the shadows thick around them. "Most importantly, I already had my suspicions. It is always a lot easier to confirm an old suspicion than to form it without any foundation. That is the advantage only age and experience can give you."

Lukka silently nodded, kept in place by the other's hand and words in equal measure.

"In fact," the Chancellor continued, "I am quite sure you would have uncovered it all by yourself, and a lot quicker, if only you had more exposure to the world of politics. The Temple's training is focused more on theory than practice, as I understand, and it was that lack of real-life experience that had blinded you so on Haruun Kal."

"Perhaps," Lukka agreed cautiously, a shiver running down his spine, a moment of foreboding-

"Well, I am sure we can remedy that. I do not think we will have much choice, to be honest," the Chancellor smiled at him, amused and apologetic all at once. "I spend all my time entangled in political plans and plays of others', and I am afraid that you will hear far too many boring details, if you keep your promise to visit me more often. We will just have to make the most of it."

Lukka froze, for a single instant arrested by the dark current in the Force, by the implicit offer of tutelage, of _patronage_ , of all ridiculous things- And that brought back Master Windu's words of dangers and the Council's disapproval and-

And drawing Count Dooku's attention.

"Yes, your Excellency," he replied, a slow smile spreading along his lips. "I'll make sure to make the most of your generous offer."

"Good. Good," Sheev Palpatine replied, his small, satisfied smile echoing Lukka's own. "I am glad we understand each other, my friend. I shall see you soon."


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A big thanks to my beta, Princessleia9977.

Anakin leaped out of the ship, the rough surface of the landing platform strange but welcoming after such a long flight.

"Anakin, come back here!" Master Obi-Wan yelled from the cockpit. "I'm not lugging all this myself!"

 _All this_ was a motley collection of unique gadgets, spare parts and things that were just too interesting not to get. Or, as Master Obi-Wan had called it, "an aggravating mess totally against the Order's regulations", for which he would take no responsibility and tolerated only because it was Anakin's birthing day.

Anakin obediently returned to help, a small smile playing on his lips. The Order's official policy was to ignore any such celebrations, as a show of unnecessary individualism, but Master Obi-Wan made sure to always do something nice for him, be it a fun-ride along the system or a fancy dessert in some strange café. Or even paying for and tolerating _an aggravating mess_.

He smiled at his Master who, despite his earlier words, was carrying a bulging sack, leaving the smaller, lighter one for Anakin. Master Obi-Wan had some strange ideas about celebrating birthing days. But then again, most of the beings from the Core and Colonies Systems seemed to share his views, and Anakin was certainly not one to say _no_ to a bit of indulgence.

"What's the hurry, anyway?" Master Obi-Wan asked lightly as they made their way into the Temple proper. "I can hardly believe that you missed your language lessons so much."

"I like languages," he grumbled quietly. "I just don't like learning useless things, and the Old Coruscanti is the definition of useless."

"It has its uses," his Master replied, though he didn’t offer any. He never did, because there weren't any, Anakin was certain. "And it's traditional."

He shrugged, unimpressed. Almost everything in the Order was traditional.

"Master Kenobi, Padawan Skywalker."

They stopped and turned, bowing slightly to the tall Twi'lek waiting for them.

"Welcome home," she nodded at them, inviting them to follow her. "It is good to see you. We have heard some disquieting rumours from the Bodgen System."

"Yes, we have had an encounter or two with pirates. Nothing we couldn’t handle," Master Obi-Wan replied, ghosting over the more ~~incriminating~~ interesting details. Anakin tried to stifle his grin.

"Well, it is a relief to hear. I'm sure the Council will be interested in your tale."

"Yes, I'm sure that once the Masters find a bit of time-"

"They are waiting."

Oh. Anakin shared a glance with his Master. That was unusual.

"Of course," Master Obi-Wan smiled. "It will be ever so convenient, to make my report straight away."

Anakin bit his lips to conceal his answering smile, smoothly falling half a step back and accepting the sack his Master discreetly handled him. Then, while the two Jedi were distracted with conversation, he fell further back and finally took a different turn, calmly walking away. The first rule of smuggling a contraband into the Temple was to act natural.

Once in his quarters, he made sure to hide away most of his treasure, cramming only a few of the most useful things into his deep pockets before belting out, away from the dormitories and down to the cellars. He was sure Lukka would be impressed with the spare parts he had managed to gather.

But Lukka wasn't there. Not in their workshop, not in his quarters, not even in his favourite training hall. Could he have made a mistake? But no, he was sure that Lukka was on Coruscant, and somewhere near at that, Anakin could feel that clearly. But where?

He stopped by one of the wide pillars, leaning upon it and closing his eyes, concentrating, listening. Most Jedi wouldn’t be able to locate Lukka this way, he knew, but he wasn't _most_ anyone. Besides, most Jedi also complained about Lukka's shields, about their strength and obfuscating effect. It was utterly perplexing. Did closing their eyes make them unable to locate the sun, as well?

Lukka wasn't in the Temple, but he was near, on the main continent. Somewhere within an hour journey. And he seemed busy, the mind behind those tight shields preoccupied, buzzing like a nest of hornets.

Anakin opened his eyes, disappointed.

He slowly made his way back to his quarters, absently glancing out of the tall windows, noticing the fading sunlight. Perhaps he should have warned Lukka about their ETA? But he never had to do that before, Lukka had always just _known,_ just like Anakin…

"Young Skywalker."

He looked up, blinking at Master Mace Windu. What-

"Anakin."

Master Obi-Wan frowned at him from behind Master Windu's shoulder, both of them sitting in Obi-Wan chambers, the open door panel leaving Anakin's return route exposed. He straightened and tried his hardest to look respectful.

"Master Windu, Master Obi-Wan," he greeted, doing his best to keep his worlds slow and clear. Sometimes he doubted he would ever get rid of his Outer Rim accent, would always sound choppy and unrefined.

"Is everything alright, Anakin?" Master Obi-Wan asked with a frown. "You seem- dispirited."

"I'm fine," he dismissed easily. "I just can't find Lukka anywhere."

"Ah. I see," his Master's face blanked, his voice lowered just a bit. He did that every time Anakin's friendship with Lukka came up, as if it would hide anything. As if his disapproval wasn't frankly blearing through the Force, deep violet and sour like a Glib'ggo lemon.

"I was not aware that you and my Padawan were close," Master Windu said, turning to face Anakin fully.

"We're friendly," he shrugged, trying to keep his answers casual. He did _not_ need another lecture about the dangerous nature of any attachments. "Do you know where he might be, Master Windu?"

"He comes and goes without consulting me," there was something strange in Master Windu's voice, in his Force presence. Anakin narrowed his eyes, considering. "But if he is not in the Temple, I would wager that he is visiting the High Chancellor."

What?

"With the Chancellor?", Anakin blinked, confusion obscuring his vision as successfully as any sand-storm.

The two Jedi apparently didn't notice, busy trading heavy looks.

"He had been spending increasing amounts of time with the Chancellor, as of late" Master Windu nodded. "I understand that you are friendly with the Chancellor, as well. Surely you are aware of their- relationship?"

Relationship? But Lukka didn't like the Chancellor, not truly, and the Chancellor- Anakin showed his hands into the pockets of his robe, grabbing delicate parts and squeezing probably too tightly and not caring- Because the Chancellor-

The Chancellor had been Anakin's friend first.

"Anakin? Do not ignore Master Windu, it's impolite."

He refocused, mastered himself enough to send his Master a chagrined grin.

"I'm sorry, I was- I was just surprised. I thought Lukka didn't like politics and politicians much."

"He wouldn't be the first to forget his reservations in the face of more- personal gain," Obi-Wan shook his head, walking over to Anakin and laying a steadying hand on his shoulder. He stilled, looking into those familiar, calm eyes.

"The Chancellor has much to offer to someone like him," Master Windu added, that strange note back in his voice, on his face, the Force around him settling, slumping, bleeding green.

"Someone like him?"

Again, there was a look between the two Jedi, quick but significant, a laser bolt.

"Perhaps you will be able to speak to him tomorrow," Master Windu sidestepped his question entirely, settling back in his chair. "If your Master does not have any pressing assignment for your studies, of course."

"Of course," Obi-Wan echoed, hand still on Anakin's shoulder but eyes and attention focused on the Jedi Master. Anakin tried not to bristle, but truly, did they _have to_ speak over him like that?

"I'm sure I'll find the time," he replied a bit more shortly than he had meant, before bowing again and saying his goodbyes.

The doors whooshed closed behind him, leaving him alone on the tall corridor. The voices behind the steel panel were inaudible, but the subtle shimmer in the Force left him no doubt: there were talking about him.

He turned abruptly and walked away. Fast and uncaring of the direction.

 

***

 

It was well past the sunset before Lukka had managed to extract himself from the Chancellor's presence. One would think that the man never slept and never ate, so busy was his schedule. Lukka shuddered just thinking about the various politicians and activists varying for the man's support. Ugh.

His steps along the deserted corridors were quiet more out of habit than necessity as he made his way to the underground workshop, eager to tinker before retiring. He needed to work on something simple, something logical. And he was almost finished with his replacement prosthesis.

A level up and a few turns before the hidden workplace he paused, a note in the Force catching his attention, reverberating across his shields, sweet and swift and dark purple, like a desert plum… Anakin! Anakin was here.

And indeed, he was, Lukka saw after a moment of elated jog, sitting at one of the benches and fiddling with a spinner. He didn’t look up at Lukka's entrance.

"Anakin," he said in greeting, a wide smile stretching his mouth. "Stars, am I glad to see you! When did you come back? I hadn't felt you. I've had my barriers up as strong as I could, or I'm sure I'd have laughed Hado'nn in the face- Anakin?"

The boy had looked up, silent and still, hands freezing midmotion. He looked tired, his face a bit thinner than two months ago, his hair a touch darker. The Force around him was agitated, tasting of old metal.

"Anakin, what's wrong?"

"Nothing," he shrugged, eyes coming back to the spinner in his hands. "I was just surprised you weren't here. I guess I should've sent you our ETA."

"ETA and com dispatches are for lesser mortals," Lukka teased gently, sitting next to Anakin, stretching out. His feet hurt a bit after a long day.

"Evidently not."

Lukka looked sideways at Anakin, catalogued new angles on his face and his set jaw, listening, tasting his presence. He frowned.

"I'm sorry," he sighed, leaning slightly to the side, their shoulders brushing. "I hoped to welcome you back, but- No, I was busy, but it's not an excuse. I'm sorry, Anakin."

"It's fine," the boy said quietly, leaning back into him. "I was just surprised, that's all. I didn’t think you like the Chancellor. Or politicians in general. Or politics."

"I don't," he snorted. "The bunch of- How do you know where I was?"

"Obi-Wan and Master Windu were talking."

"And trading meaningful looks and dire warnings, no doubts. Now I'm _really_ sorry you had to endure that, I wouldn't wish Master Windu in a mood on anyone."

"Why was he in a mood?"

"Why is he ever?" he ran an agitated hand through his hair. "I don't listen to his every order, or don’t perform the right actions, or perform them for the wrong reasons. It’s hard to tell with him, sometimes. But he doesn't approve of my spending time with the Chancellor."

Anakin was quiet, the Force growing tighter, heavy like an air before rainfall.

"Apparently, a Jedi Knight should not dabble in politics or wish for a high public profile. Which is quite hypocritical of him, to be honest, but whatever. It's not like I spend my time in that office for fun."

"No?"

"Are you kidding?" he half turned to smile at Anakin and then stopped, arrested by the strange cast to his face. The Force spiked, sharp and fragile like an ice crystal.

"Anakin," he said slowly, carefully. "You know me. You know I don't like small talk, or sucking up, or lying. Or irritating Master Windu needlessly. I _don't_ spend time in the Chancellor's company because I've suddenly discovered a burning ambition to become a _politician._ "

He couldn't help but grimace a little at the last word, as if it had left an awful aftertaste in his mouth. That won him a half-smile and a direct look from Anakin, at last.

"Then why do it?" he asked, brows furrowed. "If not because you enjoy the Chancellor's friendship?"

"He's your friend, not mine," he threw out, perhaps too honestly. He tried to backpedal. "I'm always happy to spend time with you and any of your friends, Anakin, but the man can be… Hm. Intimidating."

"The Chancellor?" the boy asked, disbelief plain on his face and in the Force.

"Sure," he shrugged, waving his hand blithely. "Maybe he's not a warrior, but have you ever _seen_ him talking to, _taking down,_ his opponents? It's like watching a krayt dragon in a bantha clothing. They often leave the building before they realise that they haven't achieved their agenda," he gave an exaggerated shudder. " _Scary._ "

Anakin laughed, the set of his shoulders easing down, the flow of the Force turning silver and smooth.

"If you say so," the boy grinned back, head canted to the side. "Then _why_ are you spending time with him?"

"Ah, well…" he shifted to take a seat on the worktable and look Anakin straight in the face. He very firmly ignored a memory of his Aunt telling him numerous times that tables are _not for sitting._ "He _did_ find out who was behind that whole mess on Haruun Kal. And did his best to make sure they paid for that. Visiting him from time to time seemed like a small enough price to pay. Especially since he's your friend. I know you want us to get along. And…"

"And?" Anakin probed after a moment.

Lukka looked at him carefully, listening intently. He probably shouldn't mention it, particularly not to Anakin, but stars, he was so tired of keeping secrets…

"And you can't tell anyone the next bit," he replied seriously. "If you really want to know, you need to keep it to yourself. Can you do it?"

"Of course," the teenager retorted at one, offered.

"I mean that, Anakin. No one, not any friends, not a stranger in passing. Not Obi-Wan."

That seemed to sober Anakin up. He stayed silent for a moment, the Force around him opaque, before nodding.

"I promise. You can trust me."

"I know I can," he said softly, reaching out to put a hand on Anakin's shoulder. The bond between them condensed, buzzed, their emotions setting on it like precious dew.

 Lukka took a deep breath, squeezing gently before letting go.

"Did you know Master Nesh'd?"

Anakin's face changed, going tight and ugly in a flash.

"I know you didn’t kill him," he replied harshly. "I don't give a _dunngdo_ about what anyone else says, I know you didn't."

"I didn't" he nodded, doing his best to keep his calm. "But that's not what I asked. Did you know him?"

"Not well. I don't think we'd ever spoken for more than a few minutes."

"He was a good man," Lukka said, eyes turned briefly inwards. "Very gentle, very open-minded. He didn't deserve an end like that."

Anakin looked away.

"Master Nesh'd was killed in a duel," Lukka continued quietly. "A duel I started. He died trying to protect me."

"From whom?"

"From a Sith. Count Dooku."

Anakin abruptly looked up, eyes started and very blue. The Force rose up around them, hot and fierce like a desert storm.

"A Sith? I thought- Count Dooku. I've heard that name."

"Many have," Lukka nodded. "He used to be a Jedi Master before leaving the Order. Now he's a prominent public figure. A politician."

"A politician…" Anakin repeated slowly, like he was tasting the shape of the words on his tongue. "So, your sudden interest in politics…"

"Is connected to that, yes," he looked Anakin straight on the eyes, a mirror reflection of his own. "I'm hoping to draw his attention. To draw _him_ out."

Anakin licked his lips, hands slowly clenching on his knees.

"You want to kill him."

"Yes."

Anakin looked away. Lukka kept silent, tasting the shifting futures at the back of his tongue.

"I- Lukka, I- Revenge is not the Jedi way."

"No. No, it's not," Lukka spoke slowly, uncomfortably aware of just how softly he must tread. "I guess… I guess I'm not that good of a Jedi. I just- It's not only revenge. I want him dead, yes, but- But I also want to stop him from coming after me. From hurting those I care about."

"Would he?" Anakin almost whispered, the hum of the Force echoing in his careful breathing.

"I disarmed him, cut off his sword arm. Humiliated him. I don't believe that he'd ever forget. Nor forgive."

They fell silent for a long moment, only the silky, graphene-strong ribbon of the Force moving, echoing their emotions, dancing along with their heartbeat. Lukka waited, tense and uncertain, but resolutely _not_ grabbing at that thread, not enforcing his will. He would have Anakin's support freely or not at all.

Still, the wait seemed very long.

"Alright," Anakin said quietly, lifting his head. His brows were furrowed, but the eyes beneath looked straight at Lukka. "Alright. If that's what you think is best, I'll help."

Lukka closed his eyes for a second, a blink of the universe, glad and relieved and terrified that he had started them both down a very dangerous path.

"Than you," he whispered, shoulders relaxing, head bowing. "Thanks, Anakin. But I don’t need your help, other than your silence. I'll do my best to keep you out of it."

"But I want to help!" the boy exclaimed, straightening. "I can be useful, I can help!"

"I know you can," he smiled at the other's determined expression. Once Anakin decided on a course of action, he was akin to a rainstorm or an earthquake: unstoppable. "But there's not much to do, other than making myself painfully visible. It's a rather long shot, but still… Better that then nothing."

"Oh…" Anakin fidgeted a bit. "But will you tell me, if there anything I can do to help?"

"I promise," Lukka nodded, oddly touched by that insistence. "On blood and stone, I promise."

"On shade and water," Anakin nodded back, accepting the old promise. There was no smile on his face.

Lukka sighed and reached out, tousled his hair and gathered him close, not paying any heed to the embarrassed protests. What were words worth in face of Anakin's shy pleasure lightening up the Force like a bonfire, warm and primeval? What use were words at all, between the two of them?

They stayed like that long into the night, silent, holding onto each other in the descending darkness.

 

***

 

Depa walked slowly, enjoying the gentle sunlight flooding the commodious east hall. The pale walls rose high, proud and welcoming, embracing rather than limiting, the polished floors were straight and wide, the Force flowed slow and light… It was good to be back home.

A harsh klick of hurried steps echoed behind her, interrupting her moment of reflexion. She glanced over, then did a double take.

"Mace," she greeted, pleasantly surprised.

He made another step before stopping and looking back at her. She lost her smile.

"Mace," she repeated, walking over and laying a gentle hand on his shoulder. "It's been ages. How are you?"

"Depa," he nodded his head a little, finally turning to face her. "I did not know you are back. How was Funshion?"

"Quiet, and peaceful, at least in comparison to Coruscant, and the younglings always are a delight," she was smiling just at the thought of their enthusiasm. "You should make time and visit one of the smaller Temples, I'm sure it would do wonders for your constitution."

"Are you saying I look in need of a holiday?" he smiled back, softly touching her elbow to guide her in the direction of the main turbo-lift.

"You look in need of a tranquilizer dart," she told him bluntly. "Have you been skipping sleep again, Master?"

"You say it like I stay up late to attend a party," he shook his head at her, at once teasing and despairing. "If there has been a shortage of sleep in my life recently, you may be assured it was due to my duties."

"Of which you have too many. When was the last time you had some serious R&R time? When was the last time you had any time for a discussion with a friend without hurrying them along to your destination?"

"Forgive me, Depa," he shot her a chagrined look, but didn't stop, didn't even slow down. The massive shaft of the main turbo-lift and the surrounding staircase almost swallowed his words. "You are right, you deserve more of my time and attention. Would you like to meet in a next day or two, just the two of us? I would be delighted to hear your tales about Funshion."

"Sure, I'd love that, but don't think I don't see what you're doing," she tried for a light tone, but the heavy, oppressive cloud of the Force around him was overwhelming. Crippling. "What has you so tense, Master? I don't think I've seen you so harried since that time I crashed a hooper in the Bouquet Square."

"During a spring festival," he pointed out, as he always did. "In full view of the holonet crews. While two years too young to be piloting it in the first place."

"The age limit is ridiculously high. You cannot tell me you've waited until you were sixteen before taking to the skies."

"At least you have improved over the years," he continued as they were climbing up, probably either to the archive or the main landing platforms. "Somewhat. At least you no longer crash with every landing."

"Only with some of them," she agreed cheerfully, before taking a hold of his arm, halting him. "Mace. What's wrong?"

They were in a bend of the staircase, with no other life forms nearby. Still, her master cast a quick probe around, before focusing on her.

"There's nothing wrong, Depa," he assured her, his tone quiet but sure. Inviting no more questions. "I may appear a bit more tired than usual, but rest assured, it's nothing you need to be concerned about."

"Bantha shit," she stood her ground, refusing to budge when he tried to step around her. Her grip on his arm tightened, feeling how tense he was, how his muscles practically vibrated, an electrical circuit without ground. "I have eyes, I can see that there's obviously something wrong. You look like you had gone a round or two against a vampa. And lost.

"I am in perfect health, thank you for your concern. If only you paid the same attention to your landings-"

"Mace, just- stop. Stop and listen to yourself," she stepped even closer, braving the dark, quivering shadow of energy hanging around him. "Just stop! When have you started to look for traps in everyday conversation, in inquiries about your health? In conversations with _me?_ "

He looked at her, silent, expressionless, the Force around them dense and heavy. Depa looked right back, resolute to get to the heart of the matter. She would be damned before she abandoned her Master and friend to face his problems without a backup.

"I'm sorry," he said quickly, abruptly, like it was yanked out of him. Then he sighed and sat down, right there on the staircase.

She smiled a little and sat down next to him. They were both silent for a moment. The noises of the Temple were indistinct here, almost non-existent. She took note of the quiet, of their calm breathing and a tense, low warble in the Force, like a far-away storm. She waited.

"You are right, I should not have been so short with you," her Master said, his deep voice not disturbing the peaceful hush around them. "It seems I have grown unused to conversations that are not a trap or a confrontation. I haven't been getting enough sleep, either. I apologise."

"Apology accepted," she replied easily. "Now, spill. What's wrong."

"Nothing is _wrong,_ per se. There's just… There is just a lot of things that are not _right_."

"There usually is. That's life for you," she shrugged, their shoulders brushing. "But it doesn't disturb your sleep, not usually. What has been keeping you up?"

"My duties. I am afraid that the political landscape has become a true minefield, as of late. The invasion on Naboo has left many distressed, in doubts of the Republic and the Order's effectiveness. The unrest is growing. There have been troubling rumours…"

"Since when do you listen to rumours?" she asked with a teasing half-smile.

"Since we have grown deaf to the will of the Force," her Master replied, no trace of levity in his tone. "Or perhaps since the Force has grown too dark for us to listen to."

"So, it's not just me," she murmured, leaning her head on his shoulder, the simple touch bringing her some solace. "I had been wondering, it has just been so- dark, and cold, lately…"

"It's not just you."

The sat there, silent for a long moment, each lost in their thoughts, a shared concern binding them together.

"What rumours?" she finally asked.

"Nothing concrete, nothing actionable, but… There are whispers of corruption in the highest echelons of the Republic, of the disease being too widespread for a cure, past any hope of reform… I have even heard someone mention a secession. Can you imagine that? A system willing to break away from the Republic, from its laws and protection, in some desperate hope that it would solve its problems?"

She shook her head gently, the coarse material of Mace's robe warm under her cheek.

"It sounds insane," she agreed. "Cutting off a limb never helps, not the patient and certainly not the limb in question. Still, it cannot be truly that dire a situation? I haven't heard any such rumours."

"I am glad you were spared the humiliation, then," her Master grumbled. "The whispers are widespread, but so far only among the Senators and their ilk."

"What are you worried about, then? You know what the politicians are like, Master, every little thing gets blown out of proportion with them. How did you even hear about it?" she asked, the inconsistency jumping out at her and causing her to lean back, to look at her Master's face. "You always do you utter best to stay away from politics."

He sighed and shook his head, a grim cast to his features.

"Anyone with any sense would stay away from politics, if at all possible."

"Then why aren't _you_?"

He remained silent for a moment, looking straight ahead, his face forcibly still. She frowned, gently laying a hand upon his, sending comfort and warmth through.

"Master."

He bowed his head and squeezed her hand, his grip strong and sure as always. At least that had not changed.

"My Padawan has become entangled in the political arena," he said, quiet and careful. "And he is too stubborn to listen to good advice. Someone needs to keep an eye on him."

That was the heart of the problem, Depa felt. The real reason for her Master's troubled expression and the overcast heaviness of the Force around him.

"Your Padawan," she probed gently. "Lukka Ekkreth, I remember. How is he doing?"

"That is the question," he sighed and looked away. "On the surface, his training is progressing well. There had been some frankly alarming gaps in his history and political knowledge, to say nothing about languages or negotiation… He's catching up quickly."

"That's good to hear."

 "Yes… But Ekkreth truly excels at more practical skills. His connection and command of the Force are- beyond anything I could have imagined."

"I'm sure that Master Funndon loves him. That old husk has always been nattering on about trusting and living in the Force," she smiled, remembering many hours spent under the older woman's tutelage.

"She does," her Master replied heavily, not even sparing words to admonish her lack of respect. She frowned, worried anew.

"I would have thought that having such a talented Padawan would bring you more pleasure," she gently probed.

"He is talented," her Master acknowledged, eyes staring sightlessly forward. "Very talented. He certainly requires more polish and a lot more patience, but one day he will be a powerful Jedi."

"Then what's wrong with him?" she asked, more bluntly than she'd like, but she was growing uneasy with the conversation. There was something heavy, almost resigned, in Mace's tone, something that did not belong to her Master's powerful Force presence and stalwart morals.

She didn’t like it.

"There is nothing _wrong,"_ he stated calmly, his hand still gentle upon hers. "Nothing that I could not have foreseen from the very beginning. I had just never imagined that I would be so unprepared to meet the challenge."

"Master…"

"He is- not like us. He does not share our values, our philosophy," the words tumbled out, stilled and awkward, heavy rocks falling into a pond. "Oh, he learns it well enough, can recite the Order's laws and histories, but- I do not believe he accepts them. They do not touch him, not truly. He grows in power every day, but there's something dark in him, dark and hard, that prevents him from becoming a dedicated Jedi."

She turned around to look at him properly, their grip the only connection between them. Lost in his thoughts, in his doubts, he seemed as remote as the stars.

"What is it?" she asked slowly. "What do you think is holding him back?"

"I have absolutely no idea. He does not trust me enough to confide in me."

She blinked, for a moment convinced that she had misheard.

"How- Why?"

How can a Padawan not trust their Master? A Master was everything to their student, a teacher, a friend, a confidant, a comrade… A saviour, in her case. She could not imagine _not_ trusting Mace with everything she was.

"How can he _not trust you?"_

"Easily," he smiled sadly. "He has few close connections, so perhaps it is just his nature. Perhaps there's something in his past that had hardened him against me, some old hurt that had never healed. Or perhaps I am simply not good for him."

"Master-"

"I feel like I have failed him. I _am_ failing him, every day, in a hundred little ways," Mace spoke over her protests, quickly, forcefully. Like ripping off a bacta patch. "Sometimes I think he resents me and the entire Order, that he would be happier doing something, a _nything_ else, rather than trying to change and fit in. But then I see him sparring or using the Force and it is like watching a bird fly, a jaguar hunt, like there's nothing more obvious than his place in the universe."

"A Padawan's place is at their Master's side," she interjected quietly.

"Not his," Mace shook his head decisively, his eyes still far away. "There is a seal of Fate on him. I _know_ that he will play an important part in our future. I am uncertain about the how, or the why, or which side... I cannot see."

 _Afraid,_ Depa thought. Her Master wasn't uncertain, he was _afraid._

"Which side?" she repeated, slightly faint because kriffing _freaking_ hell, that sounded almost like- "Do you think- that he could…"

"I worry about him," Mace turned his head, looking down into the well of the staircase, light and wide and echoingly empty. "But I don't- There's Darkness in him. Darkness and anger, but no spite, no malice."

"There's Darkness in all of us."

"Yes, I know," he nodded, squeezed her hand. "I know it well. You know that I have- had my own struggles with the darker emotions."

"And you have overcome them," she reminded, not liking the note of self-recrimination tainting his Force presence.

"It's a constant battle," her Master sighed. "I had imagined that it would be enough to guide Ekkreth, that my experiences would help untangle his path. I had always found the Jedi Code to be the best defence, the one thing sure and stable in this darkening world. I have tried to give him that."

"I guess he didn’t take well to that?" she guessed, her heart growing heavy with exasperated fondness. Only her Maser would treat rules and regulations as a _gift._

"No, he did not. Where I see a crutch, he perceives only shackles. I do not know how else I can help him."

"Just- give him time," she tried, feeling terribly inadequate. She took a deep breath, let go of her fear and rallied, tried again. "Give him time, and your support and advice. You are a good man, a great Jedi Master, you have a lot to offer. Your Padawan might be more- prickly than the norm, but he didn’t seem stupid. I'm sure that he’ll realise that you are not his enemy. Just give him time."

"Time," he sighed, smiling at her bleakly. "Very well, I will follow your advice and give him time. Stars know, at this point it is all I _can_ give him, never mind that he needs so much more…"

"Like what? A crash helmet and a ban on flying?" she tried to smile.

"He is not you," Mace fired back, his smile growing deeper, more real. "If anything, he is a great pilot. No, he needs- oh, so many things I cannot provide. More patience, a deeper understanding of what it means to be Jedi, more experience _away_ from Coruscant and the political games…"

"So, what's the problem?" she shrugged lightly. "Pack him in a ship and away you go."

"I cannot leave Coruscant at present, my duties to the Council-"

"A position on the Council does not make you a prisoner here, Master. I would know, I'm in the seat right next to you."

"I cannot leave now," he repeated, a heavy note slipping back into his voice. "The situation in the Senate is too unpredictable to leave it unattended. There is something troubling brewing on the horizon, I can sense that much. I cannot leave."

"Well, then, aren't you lucky to have such a helpful and supportive Padawan as me," she stretched her stiff muscles, nudging him with his foot entirely by accident. He threw her a look.

"And so humble, on top of everything."

"I'm a delight," she agreed. "And luckily not as entwined in the political matters as you, Master. I'm going to volunteer for the next mission off planet and take your Padawan with me, so he can gain a bit more varied experience. With your permission, of course."

"Depa, I cannot ask that of you," he looked at her with these serious eyes of his, with concern hiding just behind the bland Jedi expression. "My problems are not your burden, and you have only just returned to the Temple-"

"From a delightful stay at the Funshion Temple, not from a gruelling trek through the Unknown Regions. It will be good for me, to go out and do something useful for the wider populace. And I want to get to know your new Padawan better. I am sure it will be interesting."

"You only say that because you _don't_ know him well," he sighed. "Depa-"

"Mace," she interrupted gently. "I know what I am doing."

"And what is that?" he asked a touch snidely, but with a smile lurking in the corners of his mouth.

"Helping you and rescuing Ekkreth from your antisocial tendencies," she smiled back, relieved to feel his Force presence lightening just a shade, losing some of the ugly, brown fractures. "Now, don't be discourteous and say thank you."

"Thank you, Depa," he repeated dutifully, his look more eloquent than any words. "Truly."

"You're welcome, Master. Now, how about we get off this freezing staircase and find something warm to drink? I cannot feel my bum."

 

***

 

"A bam, your Excellency?"

"Just so. Or is that not what the youngsters nowadays call a hoax?"

"I'm afraid I wouldn't know," Lukka shot a highly amused glance at blushing Anakin. "But I believe that Anakin here is more up to date with the local slang. Anakin?"

The teenager chose to ignore his question, but not without sending a sticky current of the Force, almost like a bony finger, to poke him. Lukka merely smiled and easily dissolved the phantom.

"Why do you call it a hoax, your Excellency?" Anakin asked, more polite than truly curious. "The Senator seemed honestly concerned."

"Oh, I am sure she was concerned," the man nodded, slowly moving around his massive desk to their little seating arrangement by the far window. "But can you divide the source of that anxiety?"

"Um…"

"If not the environmental impact of the proposed mining redistribution, then… Hm. Not the possible hit to the budget, her system is rich enough," Lukka helped him out, musing aloud. "Job security? Is there an election coming along?"

"There's not such a thing as _rich enough,_ Lukka, not for these- ordinary beings. But indeed, it’s not only currency that's on the line this time. There is a presidential campaign starting very soon on her home planet. Well spotted, Lukka," the man smiled.

"Apparently, becoming a cynic is all that is required to better understand the politicians," he tried to smile back, still uncomfortable in this strange, new position he had found himself in.

"Not all politicians are like that," Anakin protested, playing with the last delicate pastry. "Some of them really care."

"I know," Lukka agreed immediately. Stars, was there ever born anyone more honest and caring than Leia? For all that she had spent years fighting doomed legal battles in the Imperial Senate, she was one- Lukka closed his eyes tightly, for a moment almost overcome.

She had been one of the best people he would ever know.

"The problem, Anakin, lies in distinguishing between the two," the Chancellor leaned back in his seat with a painted grimace. "And in discerning which direction to steer towards, when all your bones cry that the correct direction is down, to the nearest chair."

"You are hardly that old, your Excellency," Lukka responded with a small, conspirative smile directed at Anakin. "I am quite sure that _some_ pieces in the Coruscant History Museum are older than you."

"You are too kind, my friend."

"It all seems so muddy," Anakin muttered. The Force around him was gloomy but sweet, like an overripe Yavin grape. "Can't you do anything to make it simpler, your Excellency?"

"Simpler?"

"More transparent."

"Ah, transparency," the man sighed. "The great dream of reformers everywhere, along with curbing bureaucracy and limiting government spending. I wish I could, my friend. Indeed, I have spent many years working to that end, but with limited success, I must confess."

"That's unusual. As a rule, you have only victories to discuss with me, your Excellency."

"An illusion of strength can be as effective as strength itself, Lukka," Chancellor Palpatine replied seriously, in a deep voice that Lukka had privately named his 'teaching tone'.

"But-" Anakin started, hesitated, then started again, eyes trained at his half-empty glass. "But can't you do something when you _know_ that a Senator is not- honest? Not genuinely working for the good of the Galaxy?"

"Do _something_ , Anakin? What do you have in mind?"

"I don't know, why- Why not, I don't know, why not remove her? If she's not doing her job properly?"

"That's not for me to decide," the Chancellor sighed deeply, looking troubled and worn out. "Her people voted her into the office, and only her people can vote her out of it. I cannot interfere."

"But that's kri- that's ridiculous!"

"That's how democracy works, my boy."

"Well, it obviously doesn’t work that well," Anakin muttered rebelliously, the Force currents around him growing agitated.

Lukka leaned over and touched their shoulders together, commiserating, giving and receiving warmth.

"It can be ridiculous," he agreed, looking at the Chancellor for support. "And slow, and inefficient, and full of red tape. The problem is, there's just no better alternative out there."

"There must be," Anakin furrowed his brows.

"Like what?"

"Like- Oh, I don't know. Why not start with limiting the number of Senators to those truly dedicated?"

"And who is going to decide who gets to stay and who has to go?" he asked, a little incredulously. Surely, after years spent in the Temple, after so many hours of lessons and the close friendship with the _leader_ of the bloody _Republic_ , surely Anakin would know better… "That's not even touching upon the fact that we have no right _and_ no means to get rid of anybody. So, who is going to decide? You?"

"Of course not!" Anakin grimaced, shooting him an aggravated look. "Someone else. Someone wise."

"That stinks of the- an empire," it was his turn to grimace. "Dictators are a problem, not a solution."

"You sound very sure of that, Lukka," the Chancellor observed quietly.

"I am," he nodded, the Force in and around him growing denser, stronger, ready to be a shield and a weapon both. He forcibly relaxed his clenched hand, the crude machinery shooting phantom pain along his arm, muscles, deep into his heart. "One person having unlimited power over others is a recipe for a disaster."

"Even if that person is wise, and capable, and ethical?" Anakin probed, head canted to the left like a curious canyon mouse. "And truly working for the good of the whole?"

"A kind slaver is still a slaver," he huffed. "Besides, people like that never make to the top of the food chain. It's always the scums and the most heartless bastards that rise the quickest."

"Why, thank you, Lukka," the Chancellor smiled.

"I don't mean your Excellency! Obviously," he hurried to apologise, feeling a traitorous warmth on his cheeks. Of all the stupid things to say…

"Nice one, Lukka," Anakin teased, the little monkey. Luckily for him, Lukka was too old and far too mature to rise to the bait.

"But you were chosen by the people, and your power is limited by the system of checks and balances, your Excellency," he continued instead, stretching his memory, trying to _make his point_. "That's something totally different than an overlord ruling singlehandedly over a whole empire."

"Undoubtedly," the man nodded back kindly. "And let us be grateful for that. Democracy, for all its constraints and pitfalls, has a lot to recommend it. Not the least is the fact that should it fail, I would be out of a job."

_You would be dead._

That thought came to Lukka in an instant, reflexively, not a Force prediction but an intimate knowledge of realities of living in a dictatorship. Sudden as it was, unexpected as it had appeared, the thought lingered, true and weighty like a ballast on his emergency parachute. No dictator, no Emperor would ever tolerate anyone who could conceivably challenge him, certainly no the leader of the very government they had overthrown. Is that what had happened to the Chancellor in his own past? Was he killed in the upheaval? Quietly shot in the back or publicly executed?

"-Lukka!"

He jerked, abruptly returning to the present.

Anakin was looking at him from less than half a meter away, his eyes dark with worry.

"Are you alright?"

"Ye-" he had to stop, had to breath past the sudden nausea. He was fine. "Yes. Yes, I'm fine, just- Got caught up in my own head."

He was fine. There were no burning bodies anywhere.

"You seem to be distressed," the Chancellor observed, a glass of fresh water in his hand.

Lukka took it gladly, washing the taste of oily smoke from his throat. He was fine, and he was going to _stay_ fine. He was going to stop that past. What was his purpose here, is not to help, to _change_ things? To make sure that Anakin would not turn into a dark nightmare and the Chancellor into a cold corpse?

"There is no need to trouble yourself, my friend," the man calmly continued. "While I would rather not leave my office just yet, there's no need to get upset about it. And you may rest safe in the knowledge that I would, of course, invite you to my farewell banquet."

"As your Excellency says," he tried to smile reassuringly, thankful for the joking tone, for the excuse. "And even once you retire, I am sure there will be other challenges for you to meet, sir."

"Oh?"

"The Order is always looking for someone competent to look over its budget books, I was told."

"Ha!" the Chancellor laughed as he did everything else, with restraint and surprising depth. "That would be a challenge indeed. Thank you for your kind offer, Lukka, though I must refuse."

"Not up to dealing with the Order's spending extravagance?"

"Not up to dealing with the Order, period?" Anakin joined in shyly from his seat, still very close to Lukka.

"No, my friends, no at all. However, for all the faults of the democracy we have just discussed, and many more besides… For all that, I am rather too fond of it to abandon it. Even for such a prestigious position as an Order's accountant."

"What do you mean, your Excellency?" Anakin asked, brows furrowed.

"Well, I _have_ spent most of my life, long as it has been, serving democracy. One can hardly expect me to forsake all my principles simply because of a hypothetical retirement-"

"Why would- What do you mean, sir?" now Lukka interrupted, too intent to care. "Why would working for the Order require you to- to abandon…"

"Oh. I see," the man leaned back, his busy mind and calm Force presence expanding just for a moment, arrested by some thought. He looked at them both, quiet and watchful, before speaking again, his words strangely gentle. "As much as I admire all the Jedi of my acquaintance, and am grateful for your services to the Republic… No one would ever call the Jedi Order a democratic organisation."

"Wh- Of course it’s democratic!" Anakin burst out, his agitation stirring the hair at the back of Lukka's neck. "We stand at the _guard_ of justice and democracy!"

"And I am forever appreciative of that," the Chancellor nodded, slow and measured, as if calming a wild tauntaun. "No one knows better than I just how much the Republic is beholden to the Order. However, that does not alter the fact that, for all their lip-service, the Jedi are hardly a democratic bunch."

"Of course we-"

"Lukka," the man interrupted, laying a calming hand on his arm. "I am not attacking you, nor your friends. I am not criticising. But I know you are too sensible to argue with the truth."

"I'm stubborn enough to argue with anything, your Excellency," he fired back with a crooked half-smile. "Especially when I don't see your point."

"I have no point to make," the man shook his head. "Except to, perhaps, open your eyes a bit to the realities of this world. And the reality is thus: the Jedi Order is not a democratic organization. No, please, let me finish. Let us have a look at the basic structure of the Order: a teacher and a student, a youngster by necessity obedient to his master. The Hight Council, which is the main governing _and_ justiciary body, is chosen not in a general election, but by the secret vote of the seated Masters. That's not even touching upon the, ah- their recruitment methods. No, my friend," the Chancellor squeezed his arm before letting go, settling back into his seat. "I am afraid that I cannot in good conscience call the Jedi Order democratic. If anything, it is an oligarchy."

"But-" Anakin managed, his voice and his Force presence small, chocked with shock. "But that's against _everything_ they are teaching us."

"And a hierarchical structure is necessary in any military organisation…" Lukka tried, a bit faintly, because, because the Chancellor was-

He couldn't be right.

"And is the Order a military organisation?" the man questioned back calmly, like he hadn’t just overturned several of Lukka's soul deep assumptions. "The Jedi call themselves guardians of peace, not soldiers. It is a distinction the Masters have been very insistent on, as of late. No, if anything, I have always found the Order's closest relative in other religious organizations."

"Force is not a _religion!_ " he exclaimed, unable to help himself. "No more than the air we breathe is a religion or the gravity that binds us is a religion. It's that natural, that fundamental."

"And besides, the Order forbids us to practice religion. Or anything resembling one," Anakin added, a resentful note ringing in the Force around him, an old hurt still aching.

Lukka reached over and gripped his forehand, blindly, not taking his eyes away from the Chancellor's face. The man sighed, his lined face taking a saddened cast.

"I did not mean to imply… I am somewhat familiar with the Force and its users, you need not convince me that Force is a true, natural phenomenon. But I am in a privileged position, afforded by my service in this office. To the wider public…" the High Chancellor spread his hands. "An ordinary citizen sees little difference between Jedi and Endigans, or Circlists, or any other religious organisation. The number of letters and petitions that I have read over the years, complaining about the preferential treatment of one cult over the others, is proof enough of that."

"That's absurd," Lukka muttered, appalled by the new horizons, new _threats_ emerging from the complicated maze of the possible futures, the Force Hoth bright and vicious.

"No one ever accused the public of being logical."

"The Order is _not_ a religion," Anakin repeated, something biting and ugly ringing in his words. The arm beneath Lukka's palm was tight with tension, vibrating, a bare wire in the cold space.

"It's not," Lukka agreed, troubled by the implications. Still, he voiced them: "Nor is it a military organisation, you were right, your Excellency. It's- I, I don’t truly know how to classify it."

"There is no need to classify anything, my friend," the Chancellor smiled and rose, strolling to the wide window. "I did not mean to put you on the spot, indeed, I can hardly remember how we got into this tangle… Ah, yes. We were speaking of the democracy and my retirement plans."

"That only proves that you cannot retire, your Excellency," Anakin said, still tense, still unhappy, but trying to smile anyway.

"Ha! There is a thought. Still, I do not wish you to believe that I do not appreciate all that the Order has done for the Republic," the man smiled, a thin, secret thing, eyes locked over the busy city. "Indeed, I merely find it… ironic, that the greatest defenders of the democracy are those who practice it the least."

Lukka squeezed Anakin's arm and looked away, deeply uncomfortable, because-  He took a deep breath, expelling all tension and doubt, but still the chill lingered, grew, because-

Because the Chancellor was right.

 

***

 

"How bad was it?" Lukka asked the next week, after yet another argument between Anakin and Obi-Wan. The boy had been more gloomy and short-fused recently, the tension manifesting in strange ways. "Are you even allowed to be here?"

"I'm allowed _some_ time off training," Anakin replied, settling on the bench before the worktable, their shoulders touching. "I'm allowed time to socialise."

"With _me?_ "

"Obi-Wan didn't forbid it," the boy shrugged, studiously scanning a spare micro-transmitter. "He doesn't like that, he had a _lot_ to say about 'unadvisable, foolhardy connections', but he didn’t forbid it."

"I'm glad," Lukka leaned back into the warmth along his side, smoothed despite himself.

The unexpected tension between Anakin and Obi-Wan, the tension tracing back to _him,_ was not something he had predicted. Maybe he should have, but… But truth be told, he tried not to think about Obi-Wan. He didn't know how to approach him, how to relate to him. What do you say to a younger self of a man you loved, the naïve, rapid love of a freshly orphaned youth? To a man that repaid that love with omissions and knowledge, with manipulation and self-sacrifice?

Perhaps he would be best served by saying nothing at all. But he _wanted_ to have Obi-Wan Kenobi in his life again, to have that calm spirit and wise advice available to him…

"He's just worried about me."

"Good," he nodded, calling the magnetum-torch to his hand. One of the second level conductors was acting up. "You're still only fourteen, you should have someone looking out for you."

"Fifteen."

"Hm?"

"Fifteen," Anakin repeated, handing him the small sonic screwdriver. "I'm fifteen now."

Lukka abruptly straightened.

"Since when?"

"Since… almost three weeks ago?" Anakin peered up at him. "The day that we got back from the mission? It was my birthing day."

"The day I wasn't there? When you couldn’t find me?" he recalled with a grimace.

"I found you _eventually_ ," Anakin smirked. "You may hide behind your shields, but it'd take more than that to fool _me._ "

Probably. There were intrinsically linked, on a level beyond Force shields, beyond flesh and blood.

"That's not the point," he sighed, leaning back to _really_ look at Anakin. He didn't do it often, not truly, not when the Force offered him perception deeper and more profound than any organ if sight ever could. But yes, it was there, in the longer limbs and the widening shoulders. "You have grown."

"You don't need to sound so disapproving."

"I'm not, I just-" he shrugged, still tracing the darker hair and the chin, still without the stubble, but firmer now, without the child's fat. "I just want to be here. For you. Want to be- useful. You won't need me, once you're all grown up."

" _Bucca-kin,"_ Anakin muttered, ostensibly paying attention to nothing but the spare gearshift in his hands. _"_ I'll always need you. Want you there."

"I- Good. That's- I'll be there."

"Good."

The next few minutes were spent in silence, studiously fiddling with spare parts of the machinery. The Force was warm and sweet around them, clinging like a school of Endoinnian fish, bright and fresh.

"So, how did it go, your birthing day?" Lukka finally asked, honestly curious. "What's the next year's undertaking?"

Anakin didn't respond, but his hands slowed their fiddling, the Force gaining a strain, a small dissonance. Lukka looked at him, patient and still.

"The Order doesn't encourage celebrating personal milestones," Anakin quietly said to his hands.

"But-  _Surely,_ Obi-Wan-"

"He's from a Core World. He- They celebrate differently, here. He always makes sure we do something interesting, or get something _not_ practical," Anakin finally looked up, a small smile on his lips. It looked wrong. Insincere. "You should've seen the amount of spare part he let me get this year. It's enough to construct a battle droid or two."

Lukka didn’t answer, not right away.

Of course. He should have remembered. Not everyone was from Tatooine, not everyone shared their traditions, their way of life. Leia and Han and Wedge hadn't known either, not before he told them. He had just thought that with Anakin and Obi-wan being so close-

"Good," he said, turning to face Anakin fully, his flesh hand stilling the boy's fidgeting, taking the bit of metal out of his hands. "Not that I'm eager to see any battle droids, mind you. But-"

He stopped, thought for a moment.

"You are fifteen," he said, slower, with care. Next to him, Anakin straightened, the Force around him abruptly alive, vibrating with intent. "You are no longer a child. You are a _mozu'ello,_ a fledging dune rider. A _mozu'ello_ must know how to read the shifting of the sand, how to listen to the carrying wind. Can you do that?"

"Yes," Anakin replied instantly, face tight and young, painfully eager. "I know how. I can."

Lukka nodded.

"A _mozu'ello_ must know the beasts of the desert, the predator and the pray. Must be able to hunt both. Can you do that?"

"Yes. I know how. I can."

Lukka nodded again, the Force around them following his movements with graceful sweeps, bright and rich. He could almost smell the sharp spices and speeder fuel, the stink of ponderous banthas. Could almost hear the voice of his aunt, calling in the distance.

"A _mozu'ello_ must know the Tales, must know the enemy, the owner and the monger. Must be able to outlast both. Can you do that?"

"Yes," this time there was something thin, almost delicate in Anakin's reply. "I- I know how. I can."

Lukka nodded for the third time.

"A new task for you, then. A new skill to earn your passage into adulthood," he recited and then paused, abruptly unsure.

There were so many skills to learn. His own mastery from his fifteenth year would be all but useless to Anakin, but there were so many others… Which should he choose? Which would be useful to Anakin? He was already a great pilot, a strong Jedi, a gifted mechanic, in time he would become a respected and feared general-

Vader had been a respected and feared general.

Lukka trembled, a cold gust of forethought, of Destiny, leaving him freezing and naked in the indifferent universe- But no, that wasn't Vader, that wasn't a Sith Lord responsible for destroying the Jedi Order and helping to dismantle the Republic, this wasn't-

This wasn't a father responsible for abandoning his son. This was Anakin.

And Lukka would do his kriffing best to make sure he'd never _become_ Vader.

"A new skill for you to master," he continued, the cadence of words old, dust-covered, accentuated by the eager rush of the Force. "A _mozu'ello_ must know the laws and those that would break them, must _understand_ the which he is defending. In your fifteenth year, you shall attend to your political studies. You shall attend any Senate session and the Chancellor's visit you can. You shall observe and you shall learn. Can you do this?"

"I-" Anakin hesitated, a quiet glint of reluctance sounding in the Force before his resolve banished it. "I can. I shall."

"Then in a year's time we shall meet again, and you shall demonstrate your new skill."

"Yes."

They looked at each other, quiet now, the weight of their words still vibrating in the air.

Then Anakin let out a great gust of a breath and flopped down on the worktable, his forehead hitting the metal with a dull thunk.

"Politics?" he asked, almost _whined._ "Seriously, politics?"

"Serious as a heart attack," Lukka did his best not to smile. Such grumbles should not be _endearing_ , but, well…

"I can hear you smiling," Anakin muttered, still face-down, the Force swirling with his emotions, rich and complex.

"See? With how observant you are, even while busy throwing a wobbly, you'll have politics figured out in no time."

"I am _not_ throwing a _wobbly._ "

"Could've fooled me."

"Wouldn't be hard."

"Ouch. That hurt. That hurt really deep, Anakin."

Silence. For a few moments, nothing but the subsonic song of the Force.

"But _why?"_

"Because you need it," he replied at once, serious and resolute. "The Temple training isn't enough. It teaches you what the things should be like, instead of what they really are, how do they truly work. Or don't work, all too often."

"So you want me to see all that incompetence from up close?"

"I want you to see the reality of the system from up close. I want you to _know_ the system, the good and the bad."

_I want you to love the system, the Republic, so that when the time comes, you won't-_

"Besides," he added, his smile a fragile, hopeful twist of lips, "the task is supposed to be challenging. I'm sure your mum didn't go easy for you, either."

"… No. She didn't."

Lukka bit his lips, sensible to the sudden drop in the mood, to the melancholic tingle in the Force.

"I'm sorry," he said, laying his left hand on the back of Anakin's neck, flesh to flesh.

"It's fine," the boy murmured, not lifting his head, his shoulders grown tight with tension. "I just- I miss her. I still miss her."

"Of course you do."

"I'm not supposed to."

"Bantha shit."

 _That_ won a surprised laugh out of Anakin, prompted him to finally straighten and look at Lukka.

"Of course you miss her," he shrugged. "I still miss my aunt and uncle, even though it's been years since they've- since their death. You never stop missing the people you love."

Whatever they are dead or not born yet, missing people was a constant, dull ache. Like the phantom pain in his right hand, like the nightmares and urging whispers from the Darkness. He had learned to live with it.

"…I just- I wish I knew what's happening to her, how is she. I- She's still on Tatooine, with Watto," Anakin said, an angry grimace pulling his mouth down. "Unless he sold her, or-"

"She's alive."

A moment of silence as Anakin looked at him, surprised.

"Yes. Of course she's alive."

"And she's still a slave."

"I don’t see how she could not be," the boy looked away, into a shadowed corner. "She's not a Force-sensitive, not worth the trouble of getting her out."

But-

"And you aren't in contact with her?" he asked to make sure, even if he already _knew,_ the bitter taste on his tongue almost chocking-

"…No. I can't- Jedi form no attachments. Jedi do not-"

"I don’t give a _kriffing_ -"

He stopped. He had to stop, or he'd end up shouting.

The silence hung around them, heavy and oppressive. The howl of the Force had quieted, buried under it, under Lukka's- Was is disbelief? Or just rage?

"Lukka?"

Breath. Deep, slow breaths.

Slowly, so very slowly, he got a hold on himself, on his emotions. Slowly, the room quieted, the various instruments and spare parts stopped shaking, the pressure on the thick walls eased. Slowly, he could open his eyes and look at Anakin, at his pressed lips and narrowed eyes.

"You didn't know," the boy said, disbelief thick in his voice. "How could you not have known? Practically _everyone_ knows about my 'dangerous attachments', it's one of the favourite gossip topics at the Temple."

"I don’t listen to gossip, it's degrading and often malicious," he managed to say calmly enough, trying so hard to keep the pleading tone out of his voice, to not- "I'm sorry. I'm so-"

"Whatever for?"

"I should've asked earlier. I should've-"

"Are we back to playing the woulda, coulda, shoulda game?" Anakin tried to smile, but it died on his lips, dry like a Yavin Cecropia stranded on a desert. He shrugged instead. "You weren't around then, it's not your fault. I guess- I guess I'm grateful, that you don't listen to what they say about me."

"Anakin," Lukka shook his head, a strange kind of despair coming over him, squeezing his lungs. "Anakin, you- You deserve so much better. I-"

"Hey," Anakin leaned over, resting against his shoulder, warm and trusting. "It’s alright. I'm not some fragile bubble you have to protect, you know? I'm fine. It's all fine."

No. No, it wasn't fine. Anakin's mom was still a slave, everyone _knew_ she was a slave, that slavery existed on Tatooine, and _no one_ did _anything._ It wasn't even in the same star system as _fine._

He took a moment more to calm down, to breath in the sharp smell of the burnt plastic, the dusty air of the workshop, the spicy, heady scent of their merging Force energies. He reminded himself to not make promises he may not be able to keep.

"It's going to be alright," he settled on. "We're going to _make_ it alright."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of a filler chapter, before we start a new arch. I'm sure that all of you, wonderfully perceive people, can guess what it's going to be. :) I'm still in the process of figuring it out, and I never say no to good ideas, so if you have any thoughts on the subject, please feel free to share. Either here or on Tumblr, you can find me as cat-in-the-fridge. Seriously, don't feel shy.


End file.
